Champagne and Brandy
by Kayleighnicolej
Summary: "I think Queen Elizabeth must have been sad," she whispered, eyes moving to meet his, "to have to be content with only Leicester's companionship, and never his love." He closed his eyes and willed himself to find strength somewhere within himself to deny her again. "It was not enough," he agreed, "but it was better than nothing."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I have to say I was immediately sucked into the implied attraction between Victoria and Lord Melbourne. So sucked in that it inspired me to write my first fanfic in quite a few years. Obviously I do not own this story line, or the script that I took from the show. But I had to create a little self-fulfillment. Also I do feel odd writing of romantic happening of a past monarch, as this is obviously historically inaccurate. I think Rufus Sewell just inspires some pretty crazy fantasies. Anyway, this was more for my benefit but figured I would post in case anyone else thought the Elizabeth/Leicester costumes should have incited a little more fun ;)

* * *

The crisp autumn wind cut through the air rather sharply as he watched the small stature of her majesty Queen Victoria disappear down the lane. A woman of such disproportional confidence and personality did not seem to correlate with the petite form that had now disappeared from view. She continually surprised him with her ability to say what was on her mind without fear of judgment of rebuttal. Victoria had all the confidence of an much more experienced queen… but all the reckless abandon of a young woman in love.

 _Yesterday I realized something…. I think perhaps now I'm speaking as a woman and not as a Queen._

Lord William Melbourne ran a hand over his face and through his thinning hair – a reminder of the age difference that added to the pause he gave concerning Victoria. Twenty-five years or so was not such an unapproachable difference between the common folk in these times. Twenty-five years and an entire monarchy… well, _she_ was not yet made so cynical by a lifetime of trials and disappointments, but he felt the bitter sting of reality.

He could not see a scenario where their union would be uncomplicated or widely accepted. The hardest thing he had ever done was to tell a young woman he would not have her while every inch of him struggled to reach out and confess his fervent reciprocation.

 _I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation. But you cannot give it to me…. No, you must keep it intact for someone else. For I have no use for it, you see._

She had awoken something in him that he had not realized he was capable of anymore. Many years had passed since he lost his wife to the hands of another, and any interest he expressed in a woman since was nothing but fulfilling the basest needs. Small moments in dark rooms filled with nothing but the mingled feeling of empty satisfaction, regret and self-loathing. As prime minister these trysts were few and far between, and really only became ways to pass the time.

That was, until a girl of a mere eighteen years ascended a throne surrounded by a crowd manipulators and self-servers. He reflected on the doll he had picked up from a small chair with a handmade crown atop its head. Doll 123, she had informed him, and he wondered who this girl would become with the responsibility of a monarchy to mold the rest of her life.

The slow realization he acquired regarding the neglect and near abuse she had experienced at the hands of her caregivers enraged him. Throughout their acquaintance and eventual friendship he observed her mother, sir John, her uncles and various other players try and move her about a chessboard designed for their own gain. Yet she surpassed even his expectations. The young woman took charge the moment the power shifted unto her. Many would have crumbled under such a childhood. She took her lifetime of being told she wasn't enough and that she would always be incapable and turned it into a fierce determination to prove the naysayers wrong – to be a Queen the country could be proud of.

Perhaps it was witnessing this development that was the initial spark to the flame that smoldered between the two of them. He could not place a certain day or time or occurrence that made him fall in love with a much younger woman. But he found himself with a fierce need to protect her, to watch over her and carefully guide her towards being the Queen she was destined to be. He must not stand in the way of that, and it was for that reason he denied her what they both so desperately wanted.

He thought of the way she said "Lord M," like it was such a special secret between them and smiled sadly. There would not be much more of that, he expected. Lord Melbourne sighed and turned down the path that would take him in the opposite direction of Victoria, towards the Greenhouses.

A while later he entered Brocket Hall, gloomy as ever. "Brandy," he muttered to the first person he saw. The queen had long since been gone, no doubt to comfort herself at Buckingham Palace. Perhaps she would retaliate by inducing some scandal with cousin George or that presumptuous Russian Duke. Neither of those men appreciated Victoria for all that she was.

William tossed back the offered glass of brandy, handed it to the man and muttered "another." The stem of a single white orchid protruded from his clenched, white knuckled fist. He was not sure at first if he was going to go through with this gesture, but despite all he had said to her about not wanting her heart, the thought of those other boys accepting it brought him almost to an irrational blind rage.

"Mrs. James!" He called out, waiting mere seconds for the fragile figure of his elderly housekeeper to emerge. He handed her the flower. "Wrap the stem in ribbon, send it to Buckingham palace for Her Majesty."

"What would you like the note to say, sir?"

He contemplated everything he would like to say. An apology, an acceptance of her previously refused offer of her heart on a silver platter. That would not do, and could never be done. He had no words, and no words would suffice.

"Just the orchid."

* * *

"I hope the Queen has saved a dance for you." Emma said, as they watched Victoria glide across the room. She had not made eye contact with William all night, an impressive feat as he had hardly been able to take his eyes from her.

"She's busy tonight," he responded shortly. He felt positively foolish in his choice of costume, not to mention costume balls were not an event he routinely found enjoyable. Victoria's recent interest in her idol, an unmarried Queen, made him almost certain she would model her costume after Queen Elizabeth.

"She will have to marry one day, William," Emma remarked with a raised brow. He was annoyed at this obvious information, responding with a irritated "Yes, she will." He tried to hide his feelings on the matter, though he counted Emma as a friend, as close to a friend as he had at any rate. Pausing for a second as he glanced briefly away from the topic of conversation to the Duke, he added, "I just hope her husband will appreciate her."

More time passed, Victoria danced with more people, William drank another glass of brandy. He really knew better than to indulge too much, but his nerves were fraying, and he felt that some dulling of the senses was needed as he watched her smile at yet another young man as that man placed a hand on her waist and they whirled about the room. The red of her wig and gilt of her crown was near mesmerizing. And he found himself crossing the room to her, wanting his turn to be with her, if only for a few moments.

He encountered her walking briskly, a crease prominent between her brows indicating her displeasure. Not far behind he witnessed her uncle and cousin George watching her with mingled irritation and regret. He, on the other hand was pleased at her obvious annoyance with her cousin.

"May I have the pleasure," he asked as he stepped in front of her, breaking her out of whatever thoughts plagued her racing mind. "Ma'am," he added with a small smile.

One eyebrow raised as an expression of almost comical aloofness crossed her face. She was trying to show him she was not affected by his previous rejection, and he was most certainly not convinced. "I think this one is free," she chimed after careful examination of her dance card.

The music struck up a waltz as he brought her close, his gaze caught by the orchid mounted to her bodice. He barely suppressed a smile. "Have you danced with George yet?" He inquired, more towards what he thought he may have witnessed.

Victoria scoffed, looking past William at anything, so long as she did not have to look at him. "He wants to dance with a Queen, no necessarily with me."

Ah. As he had suspected her throne was more the object of his advances, and not so much the amazing woman who occupied it. _Idiot_ , he thought to himself, as he looked at the mesmerizing person in his arms. "Than he's more of a fool than I suspected," he responded. Were he in a position to proposition her, he would not hesitate. He was more than content to be her mere companion as she competently ruled her empire, her cousin and family wanted to rule for her.

A brief pause, and then "I wasn't sure if I would dance with you tonight,"

The hand on her waist tightened impulsively. "It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester."

Her inquiring glance met his, and their gaze held intimately for a moment as she realized his costume and all it implicated, before she broke the trance with "Leicester was her companion?"

"He was," William responded with a small smile. "He did have a wife, but then she died. But even though he was free, they never married. I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry. Whatever their inclination," He added softly. An eternity was held in the moment they shared on the ball room floor, moving in a whirl of skirts and costumed men. When the song was over, he bowed dutifully to her and moved away across the hall to clear his head and attempt to further dampen his senses, which blazed like never before. The amber liquid burned it way down to his core with the satisfying paradoxical sensation of dousing a fire. It would not be enough now, but it would have to do.

Similarly, across the room, Victoria plucked a champagne flute from the tray of a passing manservant as Sir John freed her from his lecherous grasp, and disposed of it with one hearty gulp.

* * *

As the ball for Victoria's uncle Leopold wound down to a few straggling members utilizing every moment they could, William found himself wandering down a long hall filled with portraits of important people long since forgotten. He wondered if he could someday count himself as one to be added to these walls; a Prime Minister of no great accomplishment, except to quietly break the heart of a young monarch.

Eventually, he thought sadly, the whispers of a romance between himself and Victoria would die away and she would replace them with a marriage to a king or duke or prince, over romanticized by common people who want to believe in something bigger than themselves.

The palace gradually grew quieter, and he supposed he should return to the ball and say his goodbyes. He sighed and placed another empty glass on the closest surface he could find and made his way down the hall. William had indulged in just enough brandy to make his feelings manageable and small in the back of his mind.

Soon he became aware of approaching footsteps coming towards him. Most likely a servant, as he had strayed far from the crowd of guests and not many other people would presume to go so far.

But fate was playing a cruel joke on him as a very familiar, small figure appeared in front of him.

"Oh, Lord Melbourne it is you," Victoria said with an air of indifferent surprise. William bowed, noting the careful way she did not address him as 'Lord M.' He also noted, with no small amount of mixed amusement and exasperation, how she extended an arm to the archway she currently stood beneath to support her less than stable legs.

"Your majesty," he replied, unable to keep the more formal way he addressed her without ironic tone. "Forgive me, I was exploring your rather confusing halls when I lost track of time. I was on my way back to wish you good night."

She shrugged, her chin tilting up haughtily. "I thought you had already gone. Most of the guests have left, those that remain are unable to keep their legs enough to make it to their carriages." Her composure held barely another second before she giggled. "I cannot remember his name, but one man fell into poor Lehzen and made such a terrible scene when trying to leave with his wife. I believe we are accommodating him for the night." She giggled even more, before meeting Lord Melbourne's eyes.

Her dazzling smile slipped from her face almost as fast as it had appeared as they made eye contact. She took a deep breath, "I find myself incapable of maintaining composure when I am alone with you, Lord M. I think it best I leave." Her soft voice barely carried itself the few feet that separated them. She dropped her supporting arm from the wall and made to exit, stumbling over her own feet.

He knew he should have sought out someone else to escort her back to her rooms, as she was clearly in need of support. But before that thought had halfway glanced through his mind, he found himself quickly covering the space between them and placing a firm but gentle had on her arm. "I think, ma'am that you have proven yourself unequal to the balancing act that is drinking champagne tonight."

She stopped quickly and pulled her arm from his grasp as if she was electrocuted. "I can manage." Her breath caught as he placed his hand on her again, this time at the small of her back. "I insist." He responded.

She turned to face him with a blazing indignant look on her face, determined to reprimand him and put him in his place in typical Victoria fashion, no doubt. The sudden movement placed them mere inches from each other, however. And though they have danced this close together before, the dimming light of exhausted candles and stifling silence of being alone made this an entirely different experience.

Lord Melbourne immediately regretted the countless drinks he consumed to dull the effect on him that was Victoria. For in this moment it only stoked the fire in his heart and blissfully clouded his mind with excuses and beautiful ideas only previously indulged by his nighttime dreams.

Her breathing was short and staccato, contrasting the thunderous beats in his chest. Her hand moved slowly to rest against his breastbone, no doubt feeling his heart attempting to place itself at her feet.

He took a deep breath. "Victoria," He whispered warningly. Some part of his mind registered the informal use of her name for the first time, though she did not seem to mind. He made to remove her hand from his chest, but when he touched those small fingers he only enclosed them in his.

"I think Queen Elizabeth must have been sad," she whispered, eyes moving to meet his, "to have to be content with only Leicester's companionship, and never his love."

He closed his eyes and willed himself to find strength somewhere within himself to deny her again. "It was not enough," he agreed, "but it was better than nothing."

She nodded, looking sad. It took her a moment to respond, looking contemplative.

"I am young," she conceded, perhaps in response to a remembered conversation, "but I know what I want." Determination lit up her face. Her tone had changed to one of regal commanding. "I am the Queen, Lord Melbourne, and I will have the truth. I have been honest with you and you will be a decent man and be honest in return. Do you love me?"

His eyes searched hers pleadingly. To admit it would be his downfall. They would both be lost in a whirl of scandal and grief. She could lose everything, and he would not be responsible for it. "I cannot answer that." He whispered.

They were admittedly words of concession, though he prayed she would not interpret them as such. But she took a step towards him, their breath mingling in a space too small to be considered proper. "I order you to kiss me, Lord M."

His breath left as if knocked out of him, and in that moment he was entirely lost to this small woman of half his age. He wondered what judgment awaited him after this life as he closed the inches between them. Her lips were soft and warm, sweet from the hint of champagne. They were motionless at first, as her inexperience struggled to reconcile with her desire for more. And then they parted infinitesimally.

His hands gripped her waist, hers moved slowly to the nape of his neck. She pressed herself tightly to him, silently begging him for something she could not name. He found himself backing her into the same archway she had sought out for support moments before. Her skirts an annoyance of added space between them, he pushed a knee insistently between her legs as she broke free for a strangled gasp of air.

It wasn't until his lips were on her neck when she made a soft moan that broke into his consciousness and shattered the beautiful moment into a million tiny little pieces.

He pushed himself away from her to the opposite side of the hall so quickly she was left looking quite dazed for a moment. "I…" He started with no particular intent. Her fingers passed over her lips wonderingly, her eyes shining and unfocused. And then, she looked up at him. "Why did you stop?"

He stared at her in amazement and then incredibly found himself starting to laugh, albeit humorously. "Because soon, ma'am, I would not have been able to." He was all too much aware of the discomfort in his trousers. Staring at her, flushed and out of breath because of him, was not helping in that matter. He wondered how much her mother had actually enlightened her to what transpired between a man and a woman; how children came into the world, and how much power a woman could hold over a man. She was not ignorant of her own fault, she was the product of her mother grasping for more power as directed by the puppeteers pulling on the duchess' strings.

The Queen of England, however, was not satisfied with that answer, and her expression quite reflected it. "I did not want you to stop." It was a simple statement of fact, but a statement that reflected her youth, nonetheless.

Lord Melbourne, heart and breath still racing, bowed to her once more, intending to make his exit. "If only it was that simple ma'am."

"Victoria." She corrected, giving him pause.

He smiled, walking towards her. Placing a hand softly on her cheek, he hesitated shortly, before dipping his head to kiss her for the last time. This was a different type of kiss, tender and lingering, and laced with an unspoken goodbye. "This cannot happen again." He whispered with more than a little hint of sorrow. "Goodnight… Victoria." And with one last sad look shared between them, Lord Melbourne made his exit.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright so I originally marked chapter one as complete, intending it to just be a quick little short to help filter out all that frustration over Victoria and Melbourne's relationship, but I was at work and found myself thinking up this next tid bit. I really have no clue how far I will end up taking this story line, but if you liked it (yay for 1 favorite so far, you are so cool my one fan) here is more. But still mostly for my benefit. The same disclaimer as chapter one applies.

 **Chapter Two: I Think I Will Go Riding**

A dull ticking sound was the only noise that filled the large bedchamber. A four -poster bed with the covers turned down, untouched, was the most prominent figure in the room. It was surrounded by tapestries, furniture and trinkets of such value that there could be no surprise that this room belonged to a Queen. The room was dark, not even a single candle to bring light to the depthless shadows. The standing clock in the far corner continued to beat out its reliable, steady beat.

To an observer, it would not be hard to miss the small stature of a young woman curled up by a window. Hair free, nightdress covered by a thick woolen blanket, she seemed to blend into the night itself. The clock struck the 4th hour of the day, and she stirred but a little.

" _You will sign this order!"_

 _"I will_ not _sign!"_

 _A large hand, impossibly cold, closed over her own. A quill was being shoved into her hand, which was forcefully brought down to paper. She jerked away, leaving a long, jagged black line across the document she was being forced to sign._

 _"You silly little girl!" That same cold hand came sharply across her face, and Victoria looked up at the determined face of Sir John Conroy, morphed by anger and greed. A few feet behind, her mother watched expressionless, and of most importance – without action._

 _Victoria only spared a seconds glance at her mother, who she had long since given up the hope of ever coming to her aid. She had learned at a very young age that she could not expect any sympathy from her relatives, except perhaps her uncle, the King. But she was rarely permitted to see him, except when it would be scandalous to refuse an invitation._

 _Her head was pounding and she wanted nothing more to close her eyes and sleep through the fever that had rampaged her body all night and through the day. But she knew she could not show weakness. The tears that threatened to flood her eyes after the sharp blow were fiercely blinked back. Victoria stared right into the eyes of this vile Sir John, and reiterated that she would not sign regency. "I will not allow you to use my illness as a means of getting what you want. I will never sign over my future throne to a regent. And most importantly, I will never sign it over to_ you."

 _Sir Johns expression began to morph into one of grotesque happiness, and he did not look much like Sir John anymore. "But you already have ma'am. See how well your mother looks atop her throne."_

 _Victoria looked past this man at her mother, now seated happily on her velvet red seat, her hand offered to a man of great familiarity. He placed his lips on the pale hands of the Duchess, stood and turned to smile vaguely at Victoria, the way one looks at a young girl spouting nonsense tales._

 _"Please do excuse my 'Drina." The Duchess simpered, smiling at the Prime Minister. "She was just leaving! 'Drina," she addressed her daughter, "Lord Melbourne and I have state business to attend to. Do run along and play with your dolls."_

 _"Mama, I would like to stay and learn. I am the Queen after all."_

 _Lord Melbourne laughed contemptuously at her. "These are not matters for a young girl to deal with. The Queen Mother and I will sort these matters out." And he laughed once more, joined by her mother and Sir John. A young girl, he had called her. Their laughter rang in her ears, mocking her with chants of "Your_ majesty _, your majesty, your –"_

"Your Majesty!"

Victoria sat up so fast she bumped her head against the window frame. She was momentarily dazed, not sure where she was or how she came about to be there. She glanced around the room, recognizing it as her own, and at the face that stared at her with concern, recognizing it as the Baroness Lehzen.

Placing a hand on her forehead, Victoria stood and walked over to the bed, where promptly landed on her back with her arms outstretched, a great sigh escaping from her. She had fallen asleep at the window. He head ached with the dull revenge of too much champagne the night before. Her body ached from chills she must have experienced from the drafty air – or from a not so friendly dream.

"May I ask, your majesty, why you were sleeping at the window?" Lehzen inquired with a mixed tone of concerned curiosity, and disapproval. She moved across the room to pick a dress for the day.

"I was watching the carriages leave after the party," Victoria answered. It was not entirely a lie, though she had been watching for one carriage in particular. She could not remember if she had succeeded in picking his particular one form the crowd. "I must have fallen asleep."

"It is a wonder you did not catch cold," the baroness scolded. She rang for the Queens dressers as Victoria stared at the ceiling, wondering what the day could possibly have in store for her.

* * *

Her boxes came as they always did, full of important missives, edicts and doctrines that fell upon her to sort through and sign where necessary. A tedious task usually made bearable by good company. She resigned herself to her work, with only the company of a ticking clock.

"Lord Melbourne sends his apologies ma'am, but he has matters to attend to at the House today." Lehzen had informed her. Victoria merely nodded and set herself to the pile before her. She had expected an excuse of some sort, at least today.

Her eyes grew warm and her neck began to ache. The Queen felt herself utterly unequal to the challenge before her without someone to converse with, though she insisted she wished to be alone to anyone who attempted to give her just that. The company she had grown accustomed to was all that would do, but would not come. Firmly she banished any thought of Lord Melbourne to the deepest corners of her mind.

She placed her quill to paper, signing the last form that required her attention that day. The words blurred in her sight, and she was vaguely aware that she was giving her support to some charity involving children. With a satisfied groan she leaned back in her study chair, relief washing over her at a days work finished. Her head felt as if it may split. Her back ached as if she had stood shivering in the snow all day, and not sat beside a heartily crackling fire.

Victoria stood to make her way back to the room, experiencing the spinning of a world knocked right off its axis. Making her way down the hall with one arm supported on the wall, she passed Ms. Skarett making her way to the stairway. Catching her eye, Victoria mutted, "Please take my arm, Ms. Skarrett, and make as if we are having lively conversation. I do not want to draw unnecessary concern and attention."

A large false smile immediately came across the young lady's face as they locked arms. She knew she liked her for a reason. "Is all well, your majesty?" She inquired as they strolled towards the Queens rooms.

"I find myself quite unbalanced and my head is spinning like a wooden top."

"Your skin is quite warm ma'am, if you don't mind my saying."

Victoria nodded to herself, correct in her assumption that the aching back she was feeling was more from fever than a few hours attending to her box. "I might sleep through lunch I think, and I expect to feel quite refreshed when I wake," she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

* * *

She could not keep her illness secret for long. In truth, it was nothing compared to the fever she had experienced but a year ago. This one no doubt the result of sleeping by a cold window rather than true sickness. But after many people suggested that she be attended by the royal physician, she agreed merely for the promise that he would most likely suggest rest, and most importantly quiet.

Victoria sighed as the stout old man examined her, proclaiming that the queen needed tea and rest for at least a day. "Really," she remarked, "I am sure I will be quite recovered by the morning," she had insisted. But as these matters tended to be taken more seriously where she was concerned, by morning the news had spread through all of London that the Queen was deathly ill, and that her Uncle, heir apparent to the throne, had been seen leaving Buckingham Palace looking quite unnerved.

"I cannot believe this!" Victoria said with a laugh at breakfast the next day. The morning's paper was tossed carelessly into the fire. "What a load of gossip and drabble. I feel quite rested and well. I was never so close to my death bead as it would seem people wish." Looking up a the laughing faces of her ladies, she asked "Do you all wish me ill? Is it much fun to see a monarch so indisposed?"

Her tone was all in good fun and they all laughed, though they still assured her they wished her good health. A manservant entering the room, announcing the arrival of the Prime Minister, interrupted their shared meal.

Victoria willed the easy smile she so easily donned whilst dining with her ladies to remain on her face, though it felt instantly fake and uncomfortable. She knew she would have to face him once more. How could she not? He was her Prime Minister, and one day is all it seemed he required to recover from their secret meeting during the costume ball.

As he walked into the room those moments and feelings bubbled beneath her skin as if her very blood boiled. And though the fever from the day before had been gone for hours, she suddenly felt very hot.

He was all poise and calm however. Tucked beneath his arm was a familiar red box that meant her attention was required for some important matter she would probably need explanation for.

 _Little Girl._ The words from a dream she could not seem to shake tossed around her mind. She usually did not mind the guidance and education she received from the Prime Minister, but today it made her feel resentful bitter. She would rather not reveal her ignorance to risk reminding him that she was so young. But she was not a girl. No. No she was not.

"Your Majesty," he said, with a superficial smile to match hers. He bent to one knee and kissed her proffered hand. Or it appeared as much, but she was not sure she felt his lips at all. "I am pleased to see you are well, and not suffering from a deadly disease of Chinese origin, as I believe I read this morning." There was a small amount of humor behind his words, though she noticed he was eyeing her quite critically, as though looking for any evidence of said disease.

"Yes, I am quite well. Thank you Lord Melbourne." She did not miss the looks passed between her ladies. She did not intend to sound so cold, or perhaps they noted her disuse of 'Lord M.'

A second of tense quiet before she sighed, "Well, shall we?"

She excused herself from her ladies, called dash to her said, and swept past William Melbourne, careful to place at least a foots distance between them. She assumed he followed her lead to her study.

* * *

She was rather sick of noisy clocks. She did not need a reminder that time was moving too slowly. They exchanged polite pleasantries, but none of their usual lighthearted conversation. Nor did she ask any questions, when usually she threw so many at him he was unsure which to answer first. The air was thick with tension between them, and Victoria found herself struggling between screaming at him out of irrational anger, and fighting the will to openly weep.

"I think, your majesty," Lord Melbourne began softly, his eyes never leaving the papers before him, "That if you sigh so heavily again, there may be no more air left in your lungs." It was meant as an attempt to lighten the mood, but she felt is as a jab to her inability to compose herself.

She did not answer, choosing to appear concentrated on her own work, though she did sit up into her full, unimpressive height. Another hour passed with near silence except for the necessary, "This will require your signature" and the scratching of quills. The sun was mid sky when they finished. Victoria had very nearly invited him on their customary midday ride through the park, but bit her bottom lip as she rose from her chair.

"Thank you for your assistance today, Lord Melbourne." And he kissed her hand before turning to leave.

* * *

And so the pattern began. Each morning she awoke from the same dream of a contorted memory, usually sweating and unable to fall back asleep. She dreaded the dream so much, that sleep only came to her when, determined to remain awake in avoidance, she was too exhausted to fight it any longer. All throughout the week she would fall asleep late into the night and wake mere hours later before the sun had risen, shaking and trying to drown out the echoes of laughter in her head.

She would breakfast with her ladies, and spend the morning in oppressive silence with Lord Melbourne as they tended their governmental duties. One day they spoke no more words than greeting and goodbye. What had transpired between the two of them the night of the ball, she thought bitterly, could not have been worth this sad replacement.

She tried not to think on it too much. It was much too happy a memory to be tarnished by this sad restraint they exercised carefully around each other.

A little more than a week of their strained cordial meetings had passed when one day he was being of a particular annoyance.

"Can I help you with something Lord Melbourne?" She asked, not looking up from a contract of some sort, as was her habit. "You seem awfully distracted this morning." He had barely made any progress at all, glancing up at her frequently, the crease between his brows slowing growing deeper with each passing minute.

"Are you…." He began, then swallowed then looked about the room as if asking for strength from the tapestries. "Are you quite well, your majesty?"

Victoria's breath caught quick in the back of her throat. In truth she had little more than an hours sleep that night, and it seemed as though her efforts to appear refreshed had not fooled him. Still not meeting his gaze, she dipped her quill in ink while steadying herself with a deep, slow breath. "Whatever do you mean, Lord Melbourne?"

"You look… that is you seem tired this morning, ma'am. " The concern in his voice was evident.

"An astute observation Prime Minister. I find sleep eluding me, these days." Victoria pursed her lips tightly, setting her quill in the ink well and leaning back, closing her eyes.

"I see." The silence between them was long as he struggled to find his words. "Anything in particular plaguing your mind? I did not think anything of such great importance has crossed our path this week." He gestured to todays box.

"Nothing of present times." As much as she hated it, she fell easily back into the rhythm of conversing with him. It was not hard to tell him things, she thought. Though her habit of revealing her secrets to him had not worked well for her in the past.

"You are not still ill?" He was of course referring to her brief, over exaggerated fever the week before.

She shook her head. "It is a dream I have been having. I find it will not leave me in peace, and wakes me from my sleep every night since the costume ball. I awake with such a shock that I cannot fall back asleep." At the mention of the costume ball, she felt, rather than saw him tense. His discomfort was palpable, but he made no attempt to stop her revelations. Victoria was unsure how much she should divulge. She had never shared with anyone the particulars of her childhood. Only her dear Lehzen knew the details. But these days she found it hard to share much of anything with Lehzen anymore.

"I find a memory coming back to be at night. There was a time, when I was seventeen, that I found myself to be quite ill. Some deadly disease of Chinese origin I suspect," Victoria said with a small smile. She did notice his shoulders relax. They would not be addressing the ball, at least not now. He smiled back, inviting her to continue sharing if she wished.

"Sir John was determined to have my mother be regent for me until I was twenty five. He saw his opportunity to manipulate me into sighing as I lay in bed, fevered and near delirium. I still refused to sign, of course." She added, then brought a hand to cup her cheek, "but I can still feel the sting of his hand across my cheek, delivered when I told him he would never have my mother, his puppet, as regent."

Melbourne stiffened, his hand clenching the arm of the chair in which he sat. He was angry, she noticed. Shrugging, she added "It was a surprise, he had never struck me before. Usually I was made to listen to taunts of my height or my dolls. I was constantly made to feel like I would forever be a little girl, incapable of keeping a crown steady atop my head long enough to rule a country. This memory alone, while an unpleasant one, is not enough to keep me awake at night. It is the shift my mind has created, where my mother and Sir John are no longer alone in laughing at me. They are joined by my new friends and companions—" Her eyes met his for the briefest of seconds, "—joining in their hecklings. I am unfit to be Queen. Too young, not a woman… a little girl they say. Unworthy of their respect or notice or love."

She did not realize there were tears in her eyes until they spilled hotly onto her cheeks, and she abruptly stood, turning away from his questioning gaze. "I am told far to often that I am far too young." She gazed out the window, remembering how he himself had remarked on their age difference a time or two. She was too young for him. Not someone to be taken seriously; not as a Queen, not as a companion, not as a lover….

She sniffed in a rather un-Queen like manner. She gazed at the garden paths, looking so tempting in the sunlight. "I think I will go riding." She said abruptly, sweeping past Lord Melbourne.

"Would you like an escort, ma'am?" He asked.

She stopped long enough to respond with "If you wish."

* * *

She mounted her horse, willing her emotions to keep in check as she took the reigns from the stable boy. Ahead of her, Lord Melbourne was already leaving the stables at a slow trot. Victoria followed, coming up beside of him as they made their way to the path.

She looked down the long lane before her as they turned away from the stables. With a deep breath she gave her horse a sharp jab with her heels and, with her body bent low and taunt, raced away. She willed her horse to run faster and faster, craving speed as if she could physically outrun the troubles that plagued her. She was dimly aware of the sound of trailing hoofs but did not care. She ran as far as the path would take her, and then kept going. Wildly darting through trees that grew thicker and thicker, she slowed when she had no choice but to admit she could go no further.

As she took in her surroundings, she suddenly found her self wracked with sobs. They tore through her entire body, her arms shaking as they snaked around her own body. She was holding herself together, as only she ever had. It was too much to rely only on her own strength anymore, for it was gone, depleted by years and years of overuse. The words "I cant," left her repeatedly, though in this moment what she couldn't do, she was unsure.

She had found a friend, an ally in Lord M; someone she could lean on for support and for untainted guidance. She had never had that before, no one in her neglectful childhood had ever been shown to be so trustworthy. And she had ruined it. Taken it away from herself after foolishly perusing him for more than she deserved. She had been greedy, and she would pay the price for her sin.

A pair of strong, warm hands found themselves firmly around her waist, and suddenly Victoria was plucked from her horse and placed firmly on her feet. She was only just beginning to wonder if her legs could hold her upright when strong arms wrapped around her. It was all the support that she needed.

She caved into him, her sobs mellowing to deep, heaving breaths as she struggled to grasp onto some control. A hand cradled her head to his chest, warm and inviting.

They stood there like that, entwined. Perhaps her body should have been on fire, as it was during that stolen moment she tried so hard not to think of. But her body just felt numb, as if all feeling had been drained, depleted from her last reserves.

"What can't you do?" he asked delicately after she had fallen quiet for some time.

"I cant…" She started, then took a steadying breath as the tears threatened to take hold of her once more. She found the courage to lift up her head and look him in the eyes. "I can't go on like this with you anymore. I want to take it all back. I was foolish to be so insistent. I need to go back to how we were… how we were _before."_

Before the kiss they had shared.

She could not meet his gaze any longer. "I need you in my life, Lord M." She murmured into his chest. "And I will take as much as you are willing to give me, but nothing less."

She felt his chest rise with expansion, heard the air swirl into his lungs. A hand briefly swept tenderly through her hair, then both arms pulled her close.

"As you wish, ma'am."


	3. Nobody Said it was Easy

A/N: I can't stop, this story needs to be told! I think I have read every Vicbourne story on this website, which is admittedly a sad number. So I guess I will carry on telling the story as I believe it needs to be told. Comments and suggestions are appreciated – bear in mind I am literally flying by the seat of my pants with this one. I do think I might go back and fine-tune some things at some point. But for now, here is chapter 3. There is some back tracking to begin with, I wanted to expand on some points from the last chapter. I was listening to the scientist by coldplay when the idea for some of this came to mind.

 _Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are.  
I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart.  
_ _Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions.  
_ _Oh, lets go back to the start._

 _Running in circles, coming up tails. Heads on a science apart.  
_ _Nobody said it was easy, it's such a shame for us to part  
_ _Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard.  
_ _Oh, take me back to the start._

 **Chapter Three: Nobody Said It Was Easy**

The Viscount Melbourne sat alone in a dark room, his arm draped over the arm of a plush chair situated by a dwindling fire. In his slackened grasp was a full glass of brandy. He had arrived home well past midnight, pouring himself a glass and taking his seat as was his habit before retiring before bed. But he found little interest in the drink, and had merely swirled the liquid around and around. His thoughts chased themselves around his mind in a similar manner, until his conflicted thoughts led him into a light slumber.

He could not say with one word, or phrase to express how he felt that night. Perhaps given time to write a few novels he would feel adequately expressed. He flipped between exultation and guilt. Mostly it was the guilt that won out. How could he have treated a Queen as such? One he admired and cared so deeply for. That night they had both over indulged, and he had found himself quite unable to resist her demands.

 _"I Order you to kiss me, Lord M."_

He told himself in the moment that he could not refuse a direct order from his sovereign Queen, a mere excuse to give in to what they both so desperately craved in the moment. His breath had hitched and he felt that he would not breath again until he acquiesced to her demand. Though rational thought told him it was an order he could have refused. For who could she tell? In this matter, Lord Melbourne would have been praised for refusing her. But he could not.

It was a pattern he had sunk into, finding himself quite unable to refuse her anything at all. If it was at his disposal to give, it was hers. Time, advice, a companion… but never his heart. He had told her before, it could not be done, there was no way he could give her what she wanted most.

Though the memory of her lips, her small waist between her hands…. He had taken her invitation and thrust himself upon her with all the grace of a baboon. He reeled with a sickened feeling, tormented when he thought on what he had done to such an innocent woman. She was inexperienced, and even if he could reconcile with the actual act of kissing her, he should have been tender and slow. But months and months of careful and calculated restraint had caused him to be near to burst.

The glass of untouched brandy finally slipped out of his fingers, landing on the rug with a low thud. Lord Melbourne sat up instantly, momentarily disoriented and confused. Ignoring the glass, he sank back down with a sigh.

He would need some time to collect himself before returning to Buckingham Palace. Before he resolved himself to face Victoria as her Prime Minister and private secretary – nothing more.

He passed the next day determined to immerse himself in parliamentary matters. The note he had sent to the palace with his excuses would at least have some truth to it.

It wasn't a day of particular good weather. The dark clouds that threatened heavy rain hung over the city of London with the promise of letting loose at at moment. He reflected like he had so many times before how tired he was of being Prime Minister. It was only his desire to see Victoria confident and competent upon his throne that drove him to return to the house every day.

Today was tiring, his concentration admittedly not what it usually was. Many times people had to repeat themselves. He was headed back to the promise of a meal at his London home on horse back when he crossed paths with a man dressed in the palace uniform, a sense of urgency to his footsteps.

Recognizing William he tipped his hat. "Good day Prime Minister."

"Is it?" William said vaguely, but inclining his head in return. "Where is it you are hurrying off too?"

"I am to call on the royal physician my Lord. Her majesty has become struck with fever and at her mothers insistence she is to be seen." The man explained, bowing away. "Forgive me, I must continue."

He left Melbourne with a perplexing feeling. A fever is not so bad, and if the Duchess sent for the physician it is very possible Victoria was fine, as her mother was known to be overly cautious. He smiled vaguely as he continued on his way home, fighting the urge to turn towards the palace. He could just imagine Victoria's impatience at being made to stay in her rooms and be being tended to.

No, he was sure she was fine.

But… He reflected as he handed his coat off upon entering his home. It would not hurt to shorten his hiatus from his secretarial duties with her Majesty. Just to make sure she was well.

* * *

 _QUEEN VICTORIA OVERCOME BY ILLNESS._

The headline was not a creative one, nor was the article particularly specific or detailed. Just the usual drabble of the effects of a sick monarch and speculation of what ailed her. He had to admit, however, that he still was not happy when he saw it.

Carefully he breakfasted alone and planned his departure for the palace with calculated timing. Straightening his cravat in the mirror before departing, he wondered what kind of day he had in store.

Their first morning together after their rendezvous at the ball was a tense one. He did not miss the hardening of her smile as he entered the room that morning. Whatever she had been speaking of with her ladies had been amusing, but she did not share with him as she would have.

But he was relieved to see her in good health, even if her spirits were not up for the match.

He told her as much, attempting to insert some humor with his comment on Chinese diseases. She brushed him off, addressing him as Lord Melbourne to the surprise of most everyone in the room.

She strode past him, her head held high, without making eye contact with him. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the red box tucked beneath his arm, and followed her on. They would go about their business as usual, he told himself. And nothing more than that.

He found their hours of tense silence near unbearable. But he could not bring himself to address the issue that stood between them, like a foreboding wall that could not be scaled. It was his lot to guide her to make the right decisions. He was not the right decision for her, and he tried not to believe otherwise.

The days went by and he noticed with increasing concern the shadows under her eyes growing each day. It was one day when she had yawned for the tenth time in under an hour when he found himself unable to give his work any attention. He watched her, no trace of her usual good humor or peacefulness.

"Can I help you with something Lord Melbourne?" She asked him, not making direct eye contact with him, a new habit he rather detested. "You seem awfully distracted this morning."

"Are you…." He paused, calculating how he wanted to phrase his question. "Are you quite well, your majesty?"

She barely seemed to register his question, continuing on with her work with an off handed "Whatever do you mean, Lord Melbourne?"

"You look… that is you seem tired this morning, ma'am. "

"An astute observation Prime Minister. I find sleep eluding me, these days." Victoria pursed her lips tightly, set her quill in the ink well and leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes. He surveyed her. Sleep was alluding him as well, his dreams usually plagued by the woman now sat in front of her. He wondered if he loss of sleep was for a similar reason.

"I see." His mouth was dry as he thought of a different reason she may be restless. He was determined not to broach the subject of the ball. "Anything in particular plaguing your mind? I did not think anything of such great importance has crossed our path this week." He gestured to todays box, open beside him and near empty.

"Nothing of present times."

His stomach dropped. It had been nearly two weeks since what had transpired between them. He knew in the back of his mind that they could not avoid the topic forever. However it would be easiest to ride out the rest of his days as Prime Minister, and then fade away until he was no more than a memory to her. Perhaps this was easiest, for her to resent him. At least she would willingly relinquish the grasp she had on him.

"You are not still ill?" He asked with concern, thinking perhaps maybe there was more truth to the papers than he had thought warranted. She shook her demure little head.

And then she described to him her dream. Her memory turned wrong. His fists clenched when she described being stuck by Conroy. He already did not hold the man in high regard for what he had suspected was ill treatment of Victoria, but he did not image she was struck. Of course, rumors of Victoria refusing to sign and designate regency had reached his ears little more of a year ago. That was when his first opinion of her had begun to form, as he became impressed by the tenacity of a seventeen-year-old princess.

"This memory alone, while an unpleasant one, is not enough to keep me awake at night." She explained to him. "It is the shift my mind has created, where my mother and Sir John are no longer alone in laughing at me. They are joined by my new friends and companions—" Her eyes met his for the briefest of seconds, "—joining in their hecklings. I am unfit to be Queen. Too young, not a woman… a little girl they say. Unworthy of their respect or notice or love."

 _Ah._ He thought sadly. He was the inspiration to the dreams that afflicted her at night. _This cannot happen again._ He had said. She had related this rejection of her to criticisms of the past. Her mother and everyone else associated had always told her that she was unworthy of the throne, too young, not ready. And his gentle phrase, not meant as a rebuke but as a simple matter of fact, had made her feel like she was unworthy of him.

She thought he saw her as a little girl, naïve and ignorant. How could he tell her that he really saw her as the most beautiful, spirited, stubborn _woman_ he had ever met? As she turned away from him to look out the window, he struggled with words to say. How to tell her how he felt, without giving her false hope?

Suddenly she turned and strode from the room. They were going riding.

* * *

They stood beneath a dense canopy of coniferous trees, Victoria wrapped tightly against his chest, her tears not coming so fast anymore. "I need you in my life, Lord M." She murmured against him. He could feel the vibration of her words, the hot moist breath breaking through his shirt and settling like a brand against his skin. "And I will take as much as you are willing to give me, but nothing less."

It was a plea, to go back to how things were before he had kissed her with wild abandon. They would have to try and forget. He also missed the ease at which they spoke with each other, laughing and enjoying shared time. Could they though? Could he forget what had happened? Never. But he could try. He wanted to try. He wanted as much of Victoria as he could take, though it would never be enough. He would be her companion. He would be her Leicester.

"As you wish, ma'am."

Moments later she extricated herself from him, smoothing her hair and taking a deep breathe. He brushed away the last rembrandt of a tear, just to touch her face one last time. He gave her a small smile. "Are you ready?" He asked. A question that held so much weight- are you ready to go back to the palace? Are you ready to try and have their easy, platonic relationship back, forgetting all that had transpired between them? Was _he_ ready? She was not so easily forgettable, this small, beautiful woman before him.

She scrutinized him with her big round eyes, always so full of honesty. They betrayed her thoughts too often to the keen observer. Finally she gave a terse nod, the nail that would shut this box of bittersweet moments away for good.

He helped her onto her horse, and together they rode their way to a future that would never fully satisfy.

* * *

Her quiet brush strokes resonated around the room. He sat in a chair facing her, trying to remain as still as he could as she requested. Sunlight draped a window shaped pattern across the room, landing at the feet of a group of ladies, practicing their needlework some twenty feet away. They always sat a respectable distance away, when the Prime Minister and Victoria were in each other's company.

Victoria made a small noise of frustration, biting her lower lip and eyes narrowing in concentration. No matter their agreement, he still found it hard not to watch her as much as he could. He was positively staring at her when she broke through his concentration. "Honestly, Lord M!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in resignation. "You fidget way too much."

"My apologies, ma'am. I am afraid I am not much used to being the subject of paintings." He said with a small smile of amusement as she packed up her tools. She smiled back at him briefly.

He watched her walk to the window next to which he sat, so close he could extend his arm and brush his fingers on her skirt. His eyes closed briefly in resignation, leaning his head against the wall.

"My uncle Leopold has sent for my cousins, Ernest and Albert." She said after a moment, turning to look at him. The tell tale signs of annoyance on her face.

"By your look of disapproval, ma'am, I gather you are unpleased."

"My uncle means for me to marry Albert." Her words came quickly, in a blur of hurried censure. Her hands clenched of their own accord at her sides.

He considered his response. Though he knew she must marry someday, he could not reconcile the idea of her with another man, let alone a German. "A sensible choice, though an English marriage might please the country a bit more."

"An English marriage you say?" Her words had a strange lilt to them, as though her thoughts traveled down the same dangerous path as his own.

"Yes ma'am."

 _I am English,_ he thought greedily.

She looked contemplative. "I do not want to marry at present." She stated simply, not meeting his gaze. "And I most assuredly will not marry who my _mother_ picks for me. No doubt Albert will be just another player in Sir John's game of who can control the Queen."

"I have no doubt that you will marry who you choose." He placated.

"No one… I have not encountered any young man who I should like to marry." He may have imagined the subtle emphasis on _young._

"I daresay you have not looked very hard, ma'am." His carefully controlled expression cracked with the simplest upward quirk of his lips. A small smile, and an empty one at that.

"I have not needed to. Until now, it seems." Her gaze met his own briefly. He knew the weight her stare held.

He attempted a reassuring smile, though his lips moved but little, and he did not feel it reach his eyes. "Then I think, ma'am, you should carefully consider your options, and take solace in the companions you have at present. "

* * *

He is so hard to read.

Their time together slowly became easier to bear, and she did not feel so abandoned as she did those first couple weeks. Since that time in the woods, they had struggled to regain some normalcy, to go back to how things were. Though like a window, once the glass is cracked, it is hard to staunch all of the leaks.

Until that night at the ball, a hard barrier had been between them. A well-defined line between propriety and scandal – between what was right and what they both desired. Those forbidden moments shared between them had caused a small crack to mar their otherwise crystalline window. But even the smallest cracks leaked; small moments began to redefine them. As they occurred with increasing frequency, the larger the cracks became, spreading outward, reaching towards some unknown goal. Soon it became unmanageable, near impossible to stop the cracking from occurring again and again.

She thought that maybe if she could read him, to get an inkling of what he was thinking, she could reconcile his feelings with her own. But he hardly gave up an inch. His smiles were small and so fleeting you could blink and miss him. His laughs far and few between. He flirted so finely with her that it left her dizzy, dazzled by his pretty compliments, uplifted by his support and encouragement. But it was no more than he had offered before. _Before._

He was too careful. She resented him for it, for she felt like she herself could burst at any moment. The mad Queen Victoria, she would become. For that is what he was doing, driving her mad. But she met his challenge with a brave face, determined to follow his lead as if nothing had changed. Even though everything had.

He sat across from her, tending to their daily dispatches. Separated only by a couple feet of solid mahogany, he rubbed his sore eyes offhandedly. She loved to watch him concentrate. The shadows of evening sun sat highlighting the angles of his face; so pensive she wished to read his thoughts like a favorite novel. His eyes, deep set and dark, were darting across the page with increasingly narrowed brows. She could stare at him forever and never be able to work out the thoughts behind those eyes.

"Lord M?"

"Mmm?" He murmured half-heartedly.

She had merely wanted to gather a response from him. Without actually having something to request of him, she looked around the room desperately for a topic of conversation.

At that moment, Lehzen entered her study. Dipping into a quick curtsey, she said "Sorry to disturb you ma'am, Prime minister… "

Victoria waved away her apology as Lord Melbourne glanced around, eyes finally tearing from his work.

"Dinner will be ready shortly, the cook wanted to know if Lord Melbourne will be dining with us tonight?"

He glanced at his pocket watch with raised brows, and then looked at Victoria, as if asking her for direction. And she could almost read his thoughts at this time. They had not dined together since the ball.

"Oh yes, Lord M. You must stay for dinner. By the time you retuned home it would be much too late to eat." She said with her best hostess voice, impassive and aloof.

He inclined his head. "I would be most thankful. It seems the day has gotten away from us." They both glanced at the window, and the burn orange and pink colors staining the evening sky.

Victoria excused herself to change for dinner, choosing carefully a dress that would be most appealing without over doing it. With the help of Miss Skerrett, she donned a dress of green silk, her hair as usual swept back by braids encircling her ears, up to form a bun at the crown of her head.

She met her mother, Sir John, Uncle Leopold and Lord M at the table that night. They dined quietly with infrequent talk. Lord M was seated opposite her, so close she wished to reach her short legs out to seek his. Teasingly, she tapped his foot as he engaged in stilted conversation with Sir John, but he either did not notice or ignored it. She sighed, chewing contemplatively over her piece of venison before turning to her mother to politely inquire after her day, though her attention remained not entirely focused.

After dinner they retired to the sitting room where her mother implored after her for entertainment.

"Oh please, 'Drina, do play us a song," The Duchess requested, gesturing towards the grand piano in the corner of the room. "No one can play it how you can."

"Oh no mama, I am sure it would prove too distracting, and I am so out of practice. Ruling a country can be quite time consuming as I am sure you have noticed." Victoria said with a smile, directed at her Lord M.

Her mother insisted, calling upon the men in the room to back her cause. "Do you not wish to hear her Majesty play, Lord Melbourne?" Victoria's mother inquired.

"Oh mama, please—"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, your Highness." He said it simply without looking at her.

"You are just being polite," Victoria scoffed, though heartened a little by the compliment he paid her. "Very well, any requests?"

A pause, and then – "A piece that means something to you, ma'am?" He suggested quietly. The Duchess and Sir John glanced briefly at each other.

Victoria considered her options carefully, taking this opportunity to convey her feelings though music, the unspoken word. She selected her music, placing the yellowing script before her with hesitancy. Her hands trailed lightly over the ivory for a moment, meditative.

And then, her fingers touched down, light and slow at first. She took deep breaths, keeping time with the rhythm in her heart. He had wanted the song to mean something to her, and she poured her soul into it. She tried to tell a story, the notes slowly becoming more insistent, more passionate. Her eyes closed as she became swept away by the beauty and sorrow of it all. For it was not a happy piece; its minor tone and dissonant chords conveyed a message of deep sorrow with the interludes of frustration; of reaching towards something forever out of her reach. She played with her whole body, rocking into the keys with each beat as if they drew out every ounce of emotion she had left to give. She was so wholly distracted she did not notice a hand reach before her to turn the page. It all flowed so seamlessly she barely glanced at the paper, so consumed by it all that she was.

The piece slowed as it reached its conclusion, notes of reluctant acceptance. Finally she opened her eyes as her fingers grazed across the final notes, seeking him out. He was not at his seat beside the fire as he had been. Instead he stood beside her, his fingers still touching the sheet music before her. Their eyes met in brief understanding.

"Very well done, 'Drina!" Her mother cooed, standing with her hands clasped before her happily. "One could not tell you were out of practice." Her Uncle Leopold merely cocked one eyebrow in regal observation, gaze bouncing between the Queen and her Prime Minister.

"Thank you mama," Victoria said quietly.

The Prime Minister took a small step away from her, and inclining his head said, "You play very well your Majesty." His eyes glanced heaven-ward briefly, then "you played with great feeling." He made to pass by her, to return to his previously occupied chair. His hand brushed her back, whether on purpose she could not be sure, but it sent chills up her spine.

At that moment, Mr. Pence entered the room. Bowing, he stated rather hastily, "Begging you pardon, your majesty. Prince Ernest and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. " He announced. Backing from the doorway, two young men appeared in his stead.

Victoria stood suddenly from her bench at the piano, eyes finding her Uncles with glaring annoyance. They were not due for another couple days.

She said just that in greeting, as both of her cousins moved forward to kiss her hand in greeting. "Cousin Ernest, cousin Albert," she began, holding her chin high. "We had not expected you until Friday at least. I hope your travels have been well?"

"Very well, your majesty," Ernest said smoothly. "I do hope we do not cause an inconvenience; it seems we misjudged the time allotted for our journey. I suggested staying at the reputable inn in town, but Albert seemed all to eager to make your acquaintance once more." He said it with a smirk and glance at his brother. Albert's cheeks became dusted with the briefest twinge of pink.

Albert's hair swept low across his forehead in curled locks, casting his eyes into a shadow that gave them an almost pitch black appearance. She found herself engaged with his stare curiously. Her stomach flipped with discomfort. She felt uneasy, trapped by his gaze as she was, as though he was scrutinizing her to her very soul.

"Cousin Victoria," he said lowly with a nod. "Ernest exaggerates, as is his habit. But I am no less pleased to see you again."

Victoria nodded, a knot wedging its way into her throat as she absorbed his scripted words. She wondered if Albert was forced into being there as much as she was being manipulated into receiving him. Her uncle caught her attention, looking quite satisfied with himself at the opposite end of the room.

"Perhaps, Victoria," Uncle Leopold began, "You can accompany the young princes on a tour of the grounds tomorrow? I know Albert in particular enjoys the out doors."

Albert bowed his head in a jerky consent. Victoria floundered desperately for an excuse, not willing to spend a whole day trapped between her two German relations.

"I would be very pleased to do so Uncle," she began, smiling demurely. "But I did not anticipate my dear cousins arriving for a couple days yet. I fear I have a previous engagement with Lord M regarding some missives from Afghanistan. Do we not?" She locked eyes with her Prime Minister, trying desperately to make him understand what she needed him to say.

Dear Lord M, he never missed a beat where she was concerned. "Oh….Yes ma'am!" he said, only faltering in surprise briefly. "I am afraid the Afghanistan papers will keep us quite engaged through most of the day tomorrow. "

She tried not to smile so broadly at him, but could not help it. They were so pathetically transparent. It was not entirely a lie, though the papers would not keep them busy for half so long as they made it seem. She did not care if her cousins were offended by her brush off, and had even less regard for what her uncle should think.

"Do not worry though, cousins." She said brightly, "I am sure we can tour the grounds the day after next." After she had time to consider her plan to dodge any conspiracies to make her fall for Albert, as she knew they would not succeed and only vex her to no end.

And when Lord M took his leave for the evening, promising to return before lunch the next day, they shared a secret smile inspired by their moment of camaraderie. It was the first smile to reach his eyes in weeks, and she retired to her rooms that night looking forward to the promise of a day spent in his company. Finally their relationship had returned to some sense of normalcy. She could still rely on him to be there for her in any matter. Their moment of intimacy finally packed away firmly in a neat little box in the back of her mind. She could live with him as her companion, confidant, her friend and nothing more. She could do this, she told her self.

She could do this.

She could.

She must.

A/N: This is a long one. Thanks for sticking through, comments most appreciated :) :)


	4. Golden Cage

A/N: Disclaimer, any lines from the original script I do not own, they belong to the lovely writer of the television show _Victoria._ Without that incredible show, I would not be sitting on my bed on a Sunday morning with coffee, trying to fend off my nosy boyfriend who thinks its funny when I say "I'm writing, leave me alone."

 _Golden Cage_

 _A bird who hurt her wing,  
_ _And now forgotten how to fly_

 _A song she used to sing,  
_ _But cant remember why_

 _A breath she caught and kept—  
_ _That left her in a sigh_

 _It hurts her so to love you,  
_ _But she won't say goodbye_

 _-Lang Leav_

 **Chapter Four: Golden Cage**

The soft pattering of an early spring rain beat a soft rhythm against the window of his carriage. It was a slow rain, halfhearted without the driving force of any significant wind. In the distance the clouds were parted to release small tendrils of light.

Lord Melbourne gazed pensively out the window, wondering what this day had in store for him. Last nights events had resonated deeply with him. Nothing of much consequence had transpired between them, naught but their usual balancing act. And yet he found he could not stop thinking of the green silk clinging like second skin about her waist. Since she had arrived to dinner swathed in the flattering color, he had longed to reach out and smooth his hand against it, so see if it felt soft like the flesh it so tightly fit against.

Birds rocketed out of their perches amongst the trees, disturbed by the rain or some sound unheard by the passing Prime Minister.

 _A piece that means something to you, ma'am?_

She had certainly taken that suggestion to heart. He had watched with growing discomfort as the song she beat out overcame her. It was if their story was being declared in loud and passionate proclamations, he found himself glancing at the others in the room, certain he would find accusing glares. He was met with only the sight of people pleasantly enjoying music. They could not feel it, but he could.

Quietly, he had stood; approaching her side so quietly she took no notice. So hesitantly he reached forward to turn her page, following the notes with what music education from his youth he could recall. He was so close to her he could smell the perfume, could see the tick of her heart in the curve of her graceful next. He hoped he appeared to be studying the music.

When she had finished, his fingers still grasped the edge of the last page he had turned for her. Their eyes met. He took a step back and a deep, unperceivable breath. "You play very well your Majesty." He looked briefly away. "You played with great feeling." _I understood,_ he thought to say, but instead he took his leave of her. His had was brushing the tantalizing silk of her gown of its own accord as he passed; soft and warm, leaving his fingertips burning.

And then the princes had arrived.

Being a man he would not say he was the best judge of these things, but even he could acknowledge that they were attractive. Ernest spouted words freely with the trace of innocent flirtation, his smile at ease and comfortable. Albert however, said nothing more than a couple stilted sentences in greeting, but the Prime Minister's stomach twisted with something akin to jealousy as a look passed between the young prince and the Queen. He could not have helped but noticed the look of wonder in her wide eyes, darting back and forth as if absorbing all that she could. The moment was short, but felt like an eternity to a bitter observer.

She was not his, he had to remind himself; he had denied her knowing full and well that someday she would marry someone other than himself. She was too young to spend the rest of her days accepting what little could be between them. He waited with dread for the day she grew impatient and realized she wanted more than he could give her.

Melbourne did take heart in the transparent way she proclaimed they would be much too busy the next day. She had looked to him for support, and knowing full well he should not hinder the inevitable, he aided her anyway.

He stepped out of the carriage as it pulled up to the palace, glancing at the windows he knew to belong to her rooms wondering what the day would bring.

* * *

"Lord M!" She exclaimed happily, her hand extended toward him. Obligingly, he knelt forward to place a quick kiss to his monarch's hand. He was relieved to see she was not donning green today.

"And how are you this morning, ma'am?" He inquired, following their well-rehearsed script. The room was scattered with people of various importance going about their various tasks. The Cobourg brothers sat some distance away, Ernest smiling at one of Victoria's ladies, Albert deeply immersed in a novel of some sort. The Duchess and her brother Leopold stood beside a window, Sir John her usual shadow observing the Prime Minister's entrance.

"Quite well, Lord M." the queen responded with a smile far too large and unconvincing. Her expression was otherwise carefully blank, the tell tale indication that she was vexed at something.

He wondered if others read her half so well as he did.

"I hope the rain did not hinder your travel too much." She said, leading the way across the room to a set of chairs, indicating that he should sit.

He took a seat, running a hand purposefully through his damp hair. "Not much bother, ma'am. They say English rain is good for one's constitution."

"Who says that?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I do."

Her laugh was instantly gratifying, though he carefully neutralized his expression, aware of many sets of eyes on the pair. The cadence of conversation decrescendos' momentarily across the room. Are they as captivated by her laugh as he, or suspicious of what words they may have shared? He found he did not care as much as he should have.

Sunlight broke through the clouds and into the windows, illuminating every particle of dust it came across swirling through the air. Producing the box of dispatches with the famed Afghanistan papers, he set it on the table beside him whilst accepting a glass of some beverage from a passing man.

Victoria did the same, rising the glass to her lips for a sip with a small smile meant for him. "I trust you had a restful night Lord M? I know we shall be quite busy today," she gestured towards the red box, possibly for the benefit of those listening.

He knew she meant for him to fortify their story of consuming business to be handled all day. Though he wondered what they would do when they finished attending to the admittedly lighter than usual box. Was her plan really to avoid her duty as hostess to her cousins all day?

He played along with her game, however, happy to be a coconspirator with her. "I slept quite well, ma'am. The rain does help when trying to sleep, I find."

"I _quite_ agree." She stood then, all others in the room rising as well. "It seems the rain has stopped Lord M."

"A brief respite I am sure."

"Emma," she began, calling towards the group of women not far away. Lady Portman answered her summons, smiling at William in greeting. "Please call my dresser, I wish to go riding."

"Now?" Lord Melbourne said with surprise.

"I think we should take advantage of the break in rain. Who knows if we will be able to go out later," she said matter-of-factly.

And so he met her at the stables for their daily afternoon ride, but in the morning. She was wearing green again, he noted with an inward groan. She lived to torment him, he thought as he swung his leg over the saddle.

They rode through the park with small conversation. It was easy and unhurried. They spoke of constitutional matters, matters of business and of simple every day happenings. Mostly they avoided any real issues.

When the clouds overhead met up to close out the small streams of sunlight, rain began to fall with insistence. She laughed, turning abruptly from the path and indicating that he should follow. They took shelter from the deluge a few meters within the tree line. "I guess we can not trick Mother Nature today," she said, but did not seem put off by it.

"Oh, it is so good to get out of that stifling palace!" Victoria said with a smile, head turning toward the aforementioned façade, glowering over the park like an ever-present sentinel. "One would think the addition of two extra men would not make such a difference, but there seems to be uncles and cousins around every corner I turn." Her breath came out in a resigned huff as she pulled the saddle blanket from beneath her mount, to place on the ground. As gracefully as can be done, she sat on the grass looking up at him.

He laughed, "It has been naught but half a day since their arrival ma'am. Surely it is not so bad." His hands were clasped behind his back as he too looked to the palace. It dominated the landscape, so much so that he could not pass within a few miles of the place without it grabbing his attention.

But maybe that had less to do with its dominance, and more to do with its inhabitant.

"They mean to control me. Any family member I come across offers me some advice that comes over as more a demand. 'Victoria you _should_ do this' and _'_ Your Majesty do _not_ do that!" She laid back, sprawling on the blanket and staring up to the canopy of trees, just barely sheltering them from the rain. "I do not listen, of course. But it is maddening, all the same."

Every now and then, a bead of water would make its way through the dense netting of leaves and branches. Victoria wiped a droplet from her face, impatiently. Lord Melbourne studied her, wanting nothing more than to join her on that blanket. To lay by her side in companionable silence, watching the leaves sway hypnotically above them.

"I would be surprised if you did listen to them, ma'am. Of all things I admire about you, I admire your strong will most."

She did not look at him, only said with a rush of annoyance, "I wish you would not call me ma'am."

The hands knotted behind his back tightened reflexively, but otherwise an observer may have thought he had not heard her. "And your cousins, are they already vying for control of your majesty? They cannot have had much opportunity, if you are spending your day with me."

She sat up to narrow her eyes at him, her words coming out in frenzy, "I do not _care_ that they have not tried yet, but I am sure Uncle Leopold has some agenda for Albert to carry out!" Her hands grabbed a handful of grass beside her, ripping at it with no intention but to release her frustration. "If Albert is so endorsed by mama and my uncle then they surely wish to rule through him as they have failed in a regency! I will not marry any man that expects me to step aside and have my country run for me! They mean to keep me in a golden cage, little more than decoration. Something _pretty_ to look at." The wind rattled the trees, more rainwater sprinkled over the pair, they did not notice.

"Your family forgets, I think, that marrying is at your discretion and not theirs."

One brow arched at him. "Not entirely."

He raised both in return, but otherwise did not acknowledge her remark. "It is your unique duty as Queen to offer your hand, not to accept an offer. However… I think it prudent you give Albert a chance. He may surprise you, and you cannot avoid marriage forever."

"Yes I can." She said obstinately, her eyes boring holes into him.

He laughed a little, humorlessly. "You could. But I do not believe you would be happy without a husband. But when you do marry, it should be to someone who loves you as you deserve. Who would rule with you, and not for you."

She stood suddenly, taking a few hurried steps in his direction. She seemed to think better of it, released her breath in a rush of frustration, and turned on her heel into the other direction. "Someone like you, Lord M?!" she cried, placing her right hand bracingly on a tree trunk, the other against her stomach as if holding herself together. "I do not have so much power over my own marriage as you say, if I cannot have my first choice. "

The following silence was so heavy, he thought the weight of it would sink him right through the sodden grown he stood on. He watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as she took deep breaths to steady herself. He did the same. Their careful avoidance of the topic could not have gone on forever. He was sure his heart had stopped at her words and without it he felt so empty, his chest hollow.

"I should… imagine…." He began haltingly, trying to think of the best way to express what he was trying to say. "I imagine it is only a matter of time before another man comes to appreciate you as I do, ma'am."

She turned to face him; her eyes wet with unshed tears. Blinking them back rapidly, she smiled sadly at him. "You flatter me, Lord M." her words carried her forward; closing the careful distance he left between them. "But I do not think it possible to replace you. I can never give my heart without reservation to another, not in one piece." The echo of their past conversation came to him. As he had done then, he reached out and took her hands in his.

"You must. But only to someone you deem worthy, and accept nothing less than love." Her riding gloves were thick, but warm from the hands beneath. He ran a finger along the flash of skin on her wrist, reveling in the feel of her. It was becoming increasingly hard to ask her to give her heart to another.

Victoria's gaze was hot on his face, but he could not meet her eyes. Giving her hands a squeeze, he made to release them.

"Wait," Victoria whispered, tightening her own grip and stepping a half step closer. She looked imploringly into his eyes, asking him for something. He so desperately wanted to give it to her.

"Victoria…." He said quietly, a soft reprimand. "We cant—"

"I wish you would say my name more often." She responded in an equally hushed tone. With a sad smile she dropped his hands, and turned to tend to her horse. He watched her replacing the damp blanket beneath her saddle; some part of his mind realizing the rain had stopped once more.

They both said not a word as they mounted their horses, returning to the path. He was reflecting on the moment they had just shared, carefully archiving the feel of her so close and the look in her eyes when he had said her name. _Victoria._ Little moments were all he would have of her and he was determined to etch them permanently into his brain, so that when he closed his eyes at night she would always be there with him.

The sound of cantering hooves disrupted his thoughts. Turning, they saw the form of a young prince approaching.

"Your majesty," Albert said, coming up beside her. "Lord Melbourne," he added with a slight inclination of his head in the Prime Ministers direction, though his eyes barely spared him a moment's notice. "Taking a reprieve from your Afghanistan papers?"

"We were just about to start, actually." The Queen said, looking to her Lord M, who merely nodded. "We thought we would take advantage of the break in rain and take our daily ride early."

"I see." Albert scrutinized the dampness of their clothes with a closed expression.

"We were inconvenienced by the rain anyway," Victoria said in explanation, "and sought cover amongst the trees."

"You never finished your ride?"

"I am afraid not."

Lord Melbourne foresaw the words before they fell from Prince Albert's lips, and reconciled himself to what he must do in return. "Will you finish your ride with me? The park is large and unfamiliar, I am sure your Prime Minister can spare you for another half hour."

Two sets of eyes met his own, one desperate and one assuming. Breathing deeply, unable to meet the desperate stare of those beautiful blue orbs, he nodded his head to Prince Albert, "The papers can wait. I must find dry clothes and I should send a message to the House. Ma'am," He tipped his hat in her general direction, feeling rather than seeing her disappointment.

He led his horse away slowly at first, and then digging his heels into the stallion's side he led him galloping back to the palace.

* * *

Victoria was fuming. Her Lord M had just left her there with Albert. After she had just expressed in no uncertain terms how much she did _not_ want to be in his company. Oh, he was so infuriating! She could not understand how he could feel so much for her, and still throw her into the paths of stray suitors. He was incorrigible, he was stubborn, he was—

"You do not have so many trees as I should wish." Albert said out of no where, attempting to make conversation as they meandered down the gravel path.

"Whatever do you mean Albert? There are plenty of trees." She responded impatiently.

"I prefer forests."

"But these are the largest private gardens in London!"

"To be among the trees when the wind is blowing is to feel the sublime." He spoke eloquently. _Such pretty words from a brooding little boy,_ she thought pettily.

The lapsed into quiet.

"I have not seen you since you were very young cousin. I fear I had expected to find the same awkward little girl I remembered."

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. He was very blunt, never garnishing his words at all. "And what did your surprise bring you, when we met last night?"

"I was pleasantly surprised, your Majesty. You are not so young or awkward."

She scoffed. "If I was awkward it was a product of my surroundings and not any fault of mine."

There was a pause, and then "I am not sure I understand your meaning."

She stared at him a moment, contemplating if she was going to share with him the difficulties of her childhood. Perhaps it would sympathize him to her plight, and realize he too was a product of the manipulations of others. That they were both being pushed around a game board by the tight grips of others.

"When I was living at Kensington my dog, Dash, was my only real friend."

"And now that is different?"

"Yes. I have Lord Melbourne now, and…and my ladies of course."

"I wish you had not been so much with Lord Melbourne," Albert said with ire. "He is not serious"

Victoria flushed with feeling, quickly coming to the defense of Lord M. "He does not choose to appear serious. It is the English Manner, but Albert – he is a man of great feeling." She tried to make him understand, could not stand to have someone criticize her closest friend so.

"Perhaps you should marry him."

She felt like the air had been sucked from her lungs. She stopped her horse abruptly in shock. She nearly retaliated with 'I wish I could!' But the words stopped before passing her lips, and all she could manage was an affronted "Albert!"

"Do you know," he responded, pulling his horse to a halt as well, turning to face her. "What I saw as I passed through the town? I saw a child, maybe four or five years old, selling matches, one at a time. Lord Melbourne may choose to not to look at that, but I must!"

"You have been here not a day and already you make assumptions about my Prime Minister and closest friend! Might I remind you that while you were touring Italy, looking at paintings by the _masters_ I was here ruling a country! You already assume to know better than I, when you cannot even _begin_ to know what it is like!" Her chest heaved with anger. "I do not need you to tell me what to think and who to take council from, _Albert._ "

"No," he said scathingly, "That's Lord Melbourne's job."

She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He was so presumptuous! They stared at each other for a few moments, she furious and he with a haughty expression of disapproval.

"You may leave us… Albert." She said with contempt, determined to stand her ground.

He stared at her for a moment longer, before bowing his head with an irritated jerk, and taking his leave.

A/N: Comments appreciated, I think I may have the next chapter up today too :'D I was going to do one really long chapter but I think its more appropriate to leave this one as is.


	5. Glasshouses

_Come to me in my dreams, and then  
_ _By day I shall be well again  
_ _For then the night will more than pay  
_ _The hopeless longing of the day_

 _Come as thou cam'st a thousand times,  
_ _A messenger from radiant climes,  
_ _And smile on thy new world, and be  
_ _As kind to others as to me_

 _Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,  
_ _Come now, and let me dream it truth.  
_ _And part my hair, and kiss my brow  
_ _And say – My love! Why sufferest thou?_

 _Come to me in my dreams, and then  
_ _By day I shall be well again  
_ _For then the night will more than pay  
_ _The hopeless longing of the day._

 _\- Longing by Matthew Arnold_

A/N: The usual Disclaimer

Chapter Five: Glasshouses

Lord Melbourne stood in the Queens study, waiting for her patiently by the fire, one arm resting on the mantle, the other resting on his hip with a tight fist. He tried not to think so much about Victoria and Albert riding alone. Tried not to think so much about what they were saying, was he making her laugh, did she look at Albert in the way she usually saved for only him?

His stomach churned unhappily. The flames danced spellbinding rhythms in the great, the clock ticked. He checked his pocket watch, he rubbed an impatient hand across his forehead.

His musing were interrupted by the sound of small heels approaching the study door with a _click, click, click._ "Where is Lord M!" He heard her snap at someone. She did not sound happy, and he could not help but be happy for it. Quickly though, he wiped the smirk from his face before she entered, hoping this meant she did not take so well to the German Prince.

The door flew open and Victoria shot Lord Melbourne a glare with such daggers he almost laughed. She plopped down into the chair with a huff, tearing off her bonnet and discarding it to the floor. Her posture was slumped; her skirts askew, and she had not changed from her riding costume. The domesticity of it all nearly took his breath away.

"Did you enjoy the rest of your ride, ma'am?" He couldn't help but tease her, and he was rewarded with a glare.

She brew a stray tendril of hair from her face and said quite sternly, "Close the door, Lord Melbourne."

"Close…?"  
"The door, yes."

He stared at her in amazement. "We should not."

"I wish for a private word with my Prime Minister." She said with impatience and stood, peeking her head into the hall, snapping at the first person she saw. "I need to scold the Prime Minister Ms. Jenkins. I will call for you when I am ready to change." And she shut the door a little harder than necessary."

"Scold me, ma'am?" It was getting harder and harder not to laugh at her. Her anger was endearing, but he felt certain she would not take kindly if he told her that. No doubt she would prefer to come off as a commanding and intimidating monarch.

She closed the distance between them rather quickly, her flushed face increasing with delicious color. He swallowed, his mouth rather suddenly dry.

" _What_ ," she began, "was that!"

He did not answer her. She was breathing heavily, searching his expression for something, though he was not sure what. And suddenly, tears sprung to her eyes.

"Victoria—"

"Oh, don't bother," she said, brushing them away impatiently. "I am just so _angry."_

He was sure he didn't understand why she was crying out of anger, she was so perplexing. "Angry at whom?"

" _You!"_ she cried. " _And_ Albert! The both of you make me so infuriated, I could just scream!"

"I would not, it is rather undignified."

She let loose a small laugh, and sank back down into her chair. "I do not know what you aimed to accomplish, Lord M, leaving me with him. But if you were determined to make me hate him more, you have succeeded."

He tried not to look so satisfied, but he was sure she saw something in his expression to make her groan in frustration.

"What is it that made you so upset, ma'am?" He inquired, taking his own seat across the mahogany desk.

"He said I should marry you."

The silence was heavy with charged feeling. He stared at her, trying to keep his face as blank as possible. He could not respond, because there was nothing he could say.

She finally looked away. "Anyway, he is not your biggest fan, lord M. He thinks I should not set so much store by what you say."

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"Don't be silly. I defended you and dismissed him. I have very few friends, Lord M. And I wont be told I have to lose you, as I had refused to lose my ladies." She smirked at him, alluding to her refusal of Sir Robert Peel, in a desperate attempt to keep him as her Prime Minister.

He tried to smile back, "I am flattered." Then he reached across to the ever-present box full of dispatches and documents for their review or her signature. After a couple hours of companionable silence, both somewhat distracted by the heady events of the day, she spoke up.

"We will expect you for dinner tonight."

He looked up at her, momentarily entranced by the dancing of light the fire cast on her face. The afternoon had remained dreary and grey, but in here she was warm and light. He blinked, willing his errant thoughts to leave him in peace. "I dined here last night, ma'am."

"Well, I must do something to entertain the Princes. It is already all arranged."

"I thought you weren't having any more balls," he remembered a previous conversation where she declared balls were too much trouble. And historically they were, for both persons present in the room at least.

"Oh no, this isn't a ball. Just a very small dance."

"I seem to remember you telling me Prince Albert does not enjoy dancing." He bit his tongue after the remark slid out, regretting it instantly as her cheeks flushed with color. He was sure his remark reeked with jealousy.

"I do not want to dance with Albert anyway. It would be like waltzing with a poker, and I am sure he has no interest as it is."

He rewarded her remark with an upward tilt of his lips. "I must go to Dover House first then, ma'am."

"Whatever for?" she scoffed. "There is no need to change. And we are to be engaged with work through the whole day, remember?"

"Ah, yes." He relented, placing his elbow on the desk and bringing his chin to rest on his fist. "I hope you do not plan to use me to avoid your cousins their whole stay ma'am. I have other obligations, and you cannot hide forever."

She raised her brows at him, "Watch me."

They laughed together, until he relented. "Very well, I will stay through dinner. It seems we have no more to engage us through here—" he gestured to the box, "what is it you suggest we do?"

"Do you play chess, Lord M?"

"Poorly."

"Good."

* * *

Victoria stared at herself into the mirror, wondering if her current color did her justice as the green had. Last night she had felt his gaze follow her as she entered, and had hoped she picked her dress well. Tonight she came faced with the same conundrum.

"I thought you might prefer the blue silk." Ms. Skerrett said, coming up behind and meeting the Queens eyes through the mirror.

"The blue silk, definitely." She said distractedly. Then she sighed. The dress had already been laid out when she arrived to the room, no doubt Lehzen had taken it upon herself to select the gown. "The baroness always likes to dress me like a little girl."

"Might I suggest we add some of the diamond pins? It will look more elegant."

Victoria smiled at her dresser. "More elegant? Yes indeed."

As Skerrett slid the last pin into her styled hair, Ms. Jenkins entered. She placed a small bouquet of beautiful flowers onto the vanity before her. A small arrangement of white gardenias, a single white orchid. "With Lord Melbourne's compliments, ma'am."

Victoria picked them up, and smelled them delicately with a private smile on her face. He was difficult to be sure. She felt she could have whiplash from trying to keep up with his moods; shunting her from Albert's company to flattering her in the most thoughtful ways. Carefully, she tucked them into her dress as she had for the costume ball.

A chill ran down her spine thinking of that night. Her blood rushed with the possibility of it happening again. She had felt so emboldened by the flow of champagne and dancing that night. Dismissing her dressers, Victoria remained seated in front of her mirror.

She understood all of the reasons, she really did. But when she sat there, gently running the soft pedals of his favor through her finger and thumb, a thought occurred to her.

The past weeks had been torment, trying to ignore the increased intimacy between them, pretending it had never happened. What if they embraced it? With great discretion, perhaps they could be together. She would never marry. As her idol Elizabeth, she would have a _companion._ The weight of that word seemed to change. Companion did not have to indicate platonic friends. Companion could also imply so much more.

With that thought making her heart light, Victoria rose to join the dinner; the smell of gardenias following in her wake.

* * *

Dinner was executed with little fuss. Lord Melbourne determinedly kept his wandering gave from returning to victoria too many times. He conversed pleasantly with Lady Portman, shared a few dull words with Albert and the Belgian King. At current, Lady Sutherland played the piano whilst Victoria and Ernest turned about the room, accompanied by a few other couples.

"The Queen seem sot enjoy dancing with Prince Ernest," Emma said beside him, "whom I find most charming."

Melbourne made a sound of distaste. "One might even forget he was German."

"Yes," she responded with a smile directed towards the Prime Minister, who's attention was caught by the other young German in the room. He stood alone, watching Victoria with a stare akin to a predator stalking his prey.

"Unlike his brother. So stiff and awkward, like a clockwork prince."

"Look how he's gazing at her," Emma said, following Melbourne's gaze across the room.

He felt true resentment being to take form, remembering Victoria's own words amongst the trees earlier that day. _If Albert is so endorsed by mama and my uncle then they surely wish to rule through him as they have failed in a regency! I will not marry any man that expects me to step aside and have my country run for me!_

"Yes, but what's he looking at? A woman? Or the most eligible match in Europe?" He said with barely restrained distaste. Emma gave him a knowing look that he refused to meet. He felt more and more often that the Lady Portman stood beside him suspected more than she let on.

The current song came to a close and Victoria left Ernest's arms, laughing at a parting joke. Such the charmer, that one.

"Oh dear Lord M!" his heart skipped a beat each time she addressed him like that. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful as ever!" She exclaimed.

He had seen her enter with his gift adorned on her waist, a most becoming sight. "The Glasshouses of Brocket Hall are at your service, ma'am." He said with a bow, never breaking eye contact, rewarding her with a grin. The music swelled above the room once more, and he extended his hand towards her. "If you are not in need of a rest, perhaps I could have the pleasure of a dance?"

Her eyes lit up like the stars she studied at night with his gifted telescope. She placed her small little hand in his own, and he happily led her out, sweeping her perhaps a little too close to him as they began the waltz.

The music consumed them as they glided about the floor, never breaking their eyes away from each other. If others noticed the intimacy passing between them, he was not sure he cared. He consumed each second with her; the hand on his shoulder clutching as if she would fall away if let go, intoxicating scent of flowers and something he couldn't put a finger on.

The song ended, he stepped away and bowed, and still she would not let go of him with her eyes. They were round and blue and telling him what they both felt. She needed him. He needed her.

"Ma'am," he said, kissing her hand whilst taking his leave of her. They were venturing into dangerous territory once more, he needed to clear his head. He sought the nearest exit, murmuring to someone that he needed fresh air when asked where he was going.

Melbourne's feet led him of their own accord away from the sounds of music and glasses clinking and laughter. He turned a corner, coming across a large window. He stood there for a few moments, surveying the grounds. The rain clouds of the day had since cleared away, leaving a clear sky of stars.

"I look up them every night."

He closed his eyes. Of course she followed him. She was so foolish to have done so, and yet—

She looked so beautiful, standing there in the moonlight. It made her skin appear almost translucent, ethereal. The pale blue silk of her dress adding to the idea that he could be staring at an illusion. A devastatingly beautiful illusion.

"I do not think anyone saw me leave." She spoke when he said nothing, "Not anyone who matters anyway."

He looked around, desperately seeking something to say. Melbourne's face was a mask of incredulity. She could not be seen here with him, alone in a dark hall. He grabbed her arm, pulling her through an open door into some sort of office. Possibly of the steward or dresser. But at present it was abandoned.

"You're being extremely reckless, your Majesty." He whispered, closing the door quietly. "You cannot be found alone with me, it would ruin—"

"I don't care." She said stubbornly.

"Yes," He insisted, "you do care."

"Do you want me to leave?" She asked, taking a step to him. "I am sure I could persuade Albert into a dance. He may surprise me with some unforeseen talent."

Melbourne grunted in near hysteric frustration. His fists were clenched at his sides as he leaned against the closed door.

"Well?" She prompted, approaching, almost stalking. "Let me through the door then, Lord M. I must go find another dance partner to entertain me."

He still did not answer, just gawking at her. Here they were, in some unnamed room, illuminated only by the sliver of moon between the clouds, staring at each other as if scared the other would disappear if they blinked.

And the jealousy he felt was enough to completely disarm him. He did not want to watch her dance with Albert. Or Ernest. Or any other man. The idea was enough to make his blood run hot. She was closer now, a careful look of innocence on her face. They were toe to toe. His eyes began to loose focus.

"Well?" She asked again. He snapped.

He grabbed her chin, tilting her head up insistently as his lips crashed down to meet hers. _Damn her. Damn her._

She took only the smallest second to respond, her lips parting deliciously for him. She did not seem so surprised as he felt she should, but he knew what she had done. What she was doing.

And it was going to be the death of him.

They kissed with a fevered urgency; like time itself was being sucked way and they were racing the clock. He reveled in once again having her in his arms, her lips hot and sweet imploring him for more. She made a small sound of pleased surprise as she felt the desk knock against the back of her legs.

Gently he gripped her waist and lifted her to settle on the surface, his fist grabbing large sections of her dress in self-restraint, to stop them from traveling further. He struggled to remain gentle with her, as it almost felt that she insisted he press against her harder. Soon she was gasping for breath as he tilted her head back, one hand in her beautiful hair to lay kisses across her collarbone. Her hands had made their way beneath his waistcoat, trying to find entrance beneath the fabric.

 _Yes._ He thought desperately, needing her hands on his skin. Anything he could get. Anything.

His hands went to the knot at his neck, deftly untying the cravat with a lifetime of quickened skill. She reached up to replace his hands, pulling it off and leaving it tight in her fist, her other hand traveling down his exposed neck and onto his chest. His own hands found their own targets. One to the back of her neck, bringing her lips to meet his own again in a tangled, devastating mess; the other coming to rest at the swell of her breast where it disappeared into her gown.

She moaned happily, breaking away to whisper _please._ He wondered in some far off place in his mind if she even knew what she was asking for. But he indulged her, non-the-less. His thumb traced a crescent on the soft tissue, before reaching to her back to find the laces that held her in. He released the first few rows, not really sure how or what he was doing to accomplish it, and suddenly found his hand cupping one of her perfect little breasts.

They both stopped at that moment, staring at each other, taking deep, panting breaths. He tried his best to keep rationality at bay for the moment, gently moving his fingers in an almost absentminded dance. He saw the confusion in her eyes, knowing all these sensations were new to her. He did not see regret, however. She heaved a deep breath, he felt her heart beating clamorously beneath his hand. Beneath his _hand._

And he ripped it away, turning from her with a wordless exclamation. He felt sick, he couldn't believe what had just happened. His sense had taken indefinite leave of him. He had just laid a hand on the _Queen._ He had committed _treason._

He had just touched _Victoria,_ a small voice said in the back of his head. She was not always the queen when they were together.

He turned back to her, groaning when he realized she made no effort to put herself back together. "Victoria, please." He begged, averting his gaze.

"Do I bother you?" She asked in a small voice. The ego of a young maiden was so susceptible to embarrassment.

"No. _No."_ He insisted. "Don't you realize what you are doing to me?" He pleaded with her. He took her head in his hand, kissing her forehead in an almost distressed way. "We cannot do this!" His eyes probed hers, trying to make her understand.

"You have said that before. Don't you want to?"

"Don't I –" He broke of. He couldn't believe the ridiculousness of the situation he had found himself in. "It doesn't matter what I want." He tried to stop his voice from rising with the urgency of making her understand.

Victoria gazed at him with that look she had when determined to get what she wanted. "Yes it does. _I_ want you, so it matters."

He groaned. " _Victoria."_ He would have to be blunt about it, he wasn't sure beating around the bush would make her realize the full ramifications of what she was asking him. What _was_ she really asking him? "What do you _want_ from me?"

"I want to be your wife." She said it so simply, made it sound so attainable.

"You—you can't!" He was near hysteric; she was so matter of fact about it.

"Not legally." She acquiesced.

He continued to stare in amazement at her. "If we were discovered…." He began, chest heaving. "Your throne would be at risk. If you were to get with child—" he couldn't even entertain the thought, it would never get that far. "You need to leave this alone," he beseeched her.

"You wont have me?" it was a challenge. And either way he answered, trouble would follow; he knew it.

He chose not to answer. He pulled her gently from the desk, turning her to redo the laces he had desperately clawed at. He felt her shifting herself back to where everything belonged. Her hair was a mess, in disarray from his searching hands. It was a beautiful sight, seeing her so undone by him.

He sighed, facing her again. "Victoria, I think you know what I want. But what I want _does not matter._ " He cradled her chin in his hand softly. She _had to understand._

She frowned at him, eyes narrowed. "You cannot say no forever, Lord M." Her words were a threat, and she floated from the room leaving a very uncomfortable and disturbed Prime Minister in her wake, his cravat still grasped firmly in her clenched hands. In his fist he felt a probing pain. He opened his hand to gaze at the object he held, and sank to the floor, leaning on the desk with the dejected exhaustion of someone who was losing a very long war.

* * *

The Queen did not return to the party, relaying her regrets to her family and friends, complaining of headache or some other idle illness. Melbourne, neck quite bare, took his leave begging of some urgent business at home.

Neither slept that night. She lay in bed with the soft, silky cravat in her hands; he with a small diamond hair-pin, having been slipped from her hair unknowingly by either.

A/N: Aaaaaaaaah I'm so bad. I might have to bump this story to mature. If any of my readers have objections please say so.


	6. Gossip and Spies

A/N: Guys, I am really not vibing this chapter. I knew where I wanted to take it but I don't feel like I executed it well. So I'm sorry if it feels weird, but I needed this part to be in there. I just had such a hard time writing it. Oh well, at any rate here is Chapter 6. I am trying to finish this story before I lose my stride.

Anyway, if anyone is interested in the Schubert duet played by Victoria and Albert during 'The Clockwork Prince,' I did manage to find it: watch?v=DYehFAv-2bo

* * *

 _So, we'll go no more a-roving  
So late into the night,  
Though the heart be still as loving,  
And the moon be still as bright._

 _For the sword outwears its sheath  
And the soul wears out the breast,  
And the heart must pause to breathe,  
And love itself have rest._

 _Though the night was made for loving,  
And the day returns too soon,  
Yet we'll go no more a-roving  
By the light of the moon._

 _-George Gordon, Lord Byron_

Chapter Six: 

Gossip and Spies

The palace came alive early the next morning. Amongst the usual hustle and bustle that runs a royal residence, the kitchen maids were going about their usual business with the aid of new gossip to pass the time.

"The Queen looked beautiful last night," A young girl by the name of Sally said, rhythmically kneading dough back and forth across the table.

Her counterpart laughed, slapping down to the table her own portion of dough to start on. In a thick Irish accent she exclaimed, "And what would you know of it? Got an invitation to the party, did ye?"

Sally rolled her eyes. "You know I di'nt Beth. But I was puttin' out the candles in the east hall and her Majesty strolled by, looking as grand as anything I've ever seen."

"I recon you saw a ghost, Sal." Another girl chimed in, and they all laughed. "What would the Queen be doing in the east wing?"

Sally shrugged. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. I heard she retired early complaining of a headache, and she did seem rather distracted. She nearly ran me over and I don't even think she noticed." She stopped kneading for a moment, looking contemplative. "Her hair had come loose, I remember thinking it odd, but quite becoming."

"Maybe Skerrett tied her hair up too tight? I would tug at my head if I felt my hair so tight my scalp would pop off." Beth remarked, and a few of the girls snickered.

A stable boy who had stopped through to try and snatch an apple leaned over the table to insert himself into the conversation. "I 'eard," he began, waggling his eyebrows at the ladies, "that Lord Melbourne left rather quickly from the party. And when I brought his horse he was missing his fancy neck tie."

The girls all giggled, blushing at the scandalous implication of it all. The kitchen matron walked through, swatting the boy across the head. "Be gone with ye. Quick like or I'll not pretend I didn't see that apple you swiped."

The boy grinned, ducked another swipe and escaped from the kitchens. But he did not head immediately back to the stables. Discretely, he took the servants stairs up to the visitor suites. He knocked quickly on a large, ornate door after making sure no one else was in the hall.

A tall, stately man answered. Leaning down so as to hear better, the boy whispered conspiratorially into the King of Belgium's ear. Leopold plopped a few coins into the boy's already outstretched hand with a prominent frown. He did not seem as pleased with the morning gossip as the kitchen maids.

* * *

Victoria stood before the long mirror, her soft white nightgown floating around her like a cloud. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were set above dark purple circles betraying her lack of sleep. She did not look different, but she felt not very like the same girl who had awaken the morning before. Her head was tilted in contemplation when Skerrett and Jenkins entered her room, holding a gown chosen for the activities of the day.

"My word, ma'am, did you not sleep well?" Ms. Jenkins remarked, eyeing the queen with critical observation.

She did not answer, just shrugged in a noncommittal way. She stepped into a dress of an eggplant shade, and sat obligingly into a chair so that Skerrett may start her hair.

"Victoria!" Came a familiar voice. The sound of footsteps grew closer and Victoria braced herself for her mother. She sighed, looking around at the woman behind her. "Thank you Skerrett, my mother can manage."

Understanding themselves to be dismissed, the dressers left Victoria and the newly appeared Duchess to the Queens hair. Familiar fingers took up the task of braiding and pinning, as they had done when she was very young.

"What brings you here so early, mama?" Victoria asked, closing her eyes. Despite her differences with her mother, sometimes it was nice to feel like a young girl again.

Her mother tugged impatiently on a stubborn strand. "Albert has found a lovely piece of music, a duet. I think that you should practice with him today and entertain us all after dinner." It did not sound so much like a suggestion.

"I do not want to play a duet with Albert mama," She said in exasperation. "And I cannot believe it was his idea. Did Uncle Leopold put him up to it?"

The Duchess avoided her daughter's gaze in the mirror. "Nonsense, 'Drina. You are too skeptical, give poor Albert a chance."

"I do not have _time_ to practice duets."

"I do not see why. You spent enough time with Lord Melbourne for three days' work yesterday." She placed the last hairpin in place and stepped back with her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

Victoria felt her face burning at the mention of Lord Melbourne, but tried to pass it off as frustration. "I cannot ignore my duties for the whim of a stupid boy!" She cried, turning in her chair to glare at her mother.

"You are being childish," her mother scolded. "I am not asking you to sacrifice a whole day. If your time is in such demand, allow him to join you for lunch. Surely you must eat at _some_ point."

Victoria narrowed her eyes, contemplating her options. There would probably be less tedious small talk with the piano. "Fine. I will practice a duet with Albert on the piano before lunch. And then I will dine alone with my ladies."

Satisfied, the Duchess patted her daughter's head. "Thank you 'Drina. He really is not so bad, I promise you."

* * *

Lord Melbourne strode through the halls of Parliament with a forced purpose to his step. He really had nowhere pressing to be, but if he gave the illusion of needing to be somewhere in a hurry, perhaps he would not be stopped for idle talk.

He was pleased with the results of the morning's vote, though it was not easily won. The Tories, relentless as ever, were not taking the slight on Robert Peel by the Queen too lightly and parliamentary matters were not made easier for it. Often times the Duke of Wellington came to the young monarch's defense when necessary.

He was rounding the last corner to the steps that would bring him to his waiting horse when he was apprehended by Sir Robert Peel himself. "Melbourne," he began, bowing slightly.

"Good morning Peel," Melbourne said, eyeing the man wearily. "What can I help you with this morning?"

"Are you headed to the palace this morning?" Robert Peel inquired, gesturing in the westward direction of Buckingham House.

His grip tightened on the brim of his top hat, held behind his back. "Perhaps. There are some dispatches arrived late last night from Australia that need her Majesty's attention. But they are not pressing, and I thought I might pay a visit to Brocket Hall."

"Ah, Brocket Hall," Peel said with an unpleasant smile. "I had heard a rumor not so long ago that you had wished to retire there, politics having run you dry. What changed?"

Playing the nonchalant act, Melbourne shrugged. "I have found renewed energy for it. Possibly it is inspired by the youth and energy of a new Queen." He looked towards his horse once more, impatient. "What is it that you wanted, Peel?"

"Ah yes. Well I was wondering if we could come to an agreement regarding the German Prince."

"Albert?" Melbourne exclaimed, surprised. "What about him?"

"Well, I hear tell from Sir John Conroy that it is near certain that Albert can expect an offer of marriage from our young Queen."

Melbourne tried to laugh, "I can assure you the Queen has neither mentioned it to me, or seemed particularly interested in the Prince. But even if she was, what is it you are concerned about?"

"Well, nobody particularly wants to see a German on the throne of England," Peel began.

"One thing we can agree on, I am sure," Melbourne consented.

Laughing, the Tory continued. "But as King Leopold still kindly draws off of the account made for him with his marriage to poor dear Charlotte, I fear being fiscally obligated to a penniless second son of a disgraced duke."

"I am not sure what kind of agreement you expect to come to when an offer of marriage has not even been made." Melbourne said, raising an impatient brow.

Peel shrugged. "I like to be prepared, and if I can get an agreement from you that we will not give him more than thirty thousand, I would be more at peace with the impending engagement."

"I do not feel comfortable agreeing on hypothetical circumstances," Lord Melbourne said impatiently. "I am sorry Peel but I really must be on my way if I am o make it to Brocket Hall by midday."

Taking his leave, Melbourne struggled with a relentless assault of the wildest thoughts. Rationally, it was extremely unlikely that Victoria would make an offer after her obvious distaste with him the day before. His visit had hardly completed two days and already her disinterest was evident enough to the keen observer.

It was supremely evident to Lord Melbourne, who had not been able to banish the memory of the night before from his thoughts for more than a few seconds at least. It made for an extremely short attention span.

His hand went deep into his pocket to grasp the small diamond hairpin. He wondered vaguely if it were he to be marrying the Queen, who would decide his allowance and title. Sighing, he released the pin back into the depths of his coat. Never mind the scandal it would stir up, being nearly three times their queens age and not of royal blood. He doubted even being English would endear him to the public if it came to that.

Worry settled deep into his mind. Their recklessness would be their downfall.

What had they started? And what fate awaited their star-crossed story?

* * *

The repeated beat of an A flat, struck over and over greeted Victoria as she entered the parlor where her piano was kept. It was not hard to identify the lanky figure sat hunching over the keys, one finger pressing, pressing, pressing on the same note. His chin rested on his other hand as he continued to beat out the trancelike march.

She snapped the door shut; he looked around at her.

"Albert."

"Victoria."

Their voices met with equal amounts of condescension and hesitation. She walked across the tile towards him, her heels snapping out their own beat, head held high. Their argument of the day before fresh in her mind, she stole herself to attempt at some civility with him however vexing he may be.

Peering over her shoulder at the sheet music before him, she smiled a bit. "Piano Four Hands?"

"Does Schubert displease you?" Albert asked, opening to the first page. "Or, perhaps you do not feel yourself equal to the challenge?"

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. "I find it a wonderfully complex piece, though I mastered it years ago." She sat beside him on the stool, tracing the notes as they dashed across the page. "Here—" she pointed to a specific place, "This is my favorite part, the question and answer of the two parts become so complex they seem to dance around each other, fighting to get a word in over the other."

He did not answer, and she looked up at him. Albert was staring so intensely at it she felt as if her very soul was being surveyed. It made her uncomfortable, she could not breathe, she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Silence encompassed them, and she could not escape the intensity of his stare. She wished he would say something.  
"Do you not agree, Albert?" Victoria prompted.

"I feel you took the words right from me, cousin." He responded, swiping away the dark curls that curtained his face. "Shall we?"

Victoria blinked almost in surprise as he broke his gaze away from her. She had not noticed she had been staring quite as much as he had. She flushed, irritated with herself, and only nodded.

"One, two three," She counted out.

It had been a while since she played this particular piece, but she felt the wonderful phenomenon of muscle memory take over, and she flowed through her part. She felt her heart racing with anxiety as it had when she was young and performing for guests for the first time. The tempo got away from her, her fingers pushing it faster and faster before they fell out of time, striking a dissonant chord.

"You play the piece so fast, Victoria," Albert muttered, turning back to the first page.

"Too fast for you?" She raised a brow in challenge.

Albert smirked at her. "Too fast for Schubert, perhaps. But if that is how you wish to play…." His fingers landed deftly on the keys, striking up the melody once more. Victoria quickly jumped in, and their hands raced about the keys, arms ducking and weaving around each other to reach notes. Victoria felt burnt each time their fingers whispered by his, and she resented him for it.

So distracted was she that she struck the wrong note, once again bringing them to a full stop.

"You need more practice, Victoria," Albert reprimanded. His smile held too much confidence, arrogance.

She stood, irritated. "Forgive me if I do not sacrifice the running of my country for hours of scales, Albert." He let out a _tsk,_ very nearly rolling his eyes at her.

His elbow came down on the keys with a crashing jumble of notes as he rested his weight there to look up at her. "I do not see so much running of a country."

Victoria stared at him with wide eyes. "Do you mean to criticize everything I do, Albert, or are you merely determined to make me hate you?"

"I only mean to say you do not offer your own opinion so much, only acting on the advice of… _others."_

That struck a strong chord with her, implying she had succumbed to everything she had ever fought against. Her unwillingness to be told what to do by various other family members was something she prided herself on, and here he was telling her that her own pride in herself was falsely placed.

"And what are you doing right now!" She huffed at him. "Piano duets and inappropriately gawking at me as if I were some prize to be won! I know you act on Uncle Leopold's bidding! You lecture me about being some puppet, acting on the whims and suggestions of others when you are doing nothing but the same! _Hypocrite!"_ Her voice had risen in volume, her hands gripped into fists at her side.

Albert stood to face her, towering over her with those dark eyes, depthless pools you could fall forever through. His brows were close set in anger and the muscles of his jaw quivered with restraint. "And what difference do you find between my actions and the frivolity of your own actions? Card games and dancing; so frequent I do not know how you have _time_ to be a Queen."

"The difference between what you accuse me of Albert, and what you yourself are doing, is that I am successfully ruling this country. _You_ are failing miserably at your task of convincing me to be your wife!"

They stood glowering at each other, the only two beings in a large room. Neither said anything but she felt as if the room had become loud with incessant buzzing, as if she could hear the blood pounding past her ears.

"I did not ask to come here." He said after a while.

She glared at him. "Then leave."

"I did not say I wanted to. I only mean that whatever Uncle Leopold hopes to accomplish through our marriage, I have no interest in." He took a step closer. "I remain in your palace because I want to be here. With you."

Her eyes darted between his own in confusion, his words not registering properly in her mind. "I do not understand."

"You are stubborn and frivolous and impossibly frustrating," He told her, stepping even closer to her, so close she could not see much beyond him. He was too close, she could not think. It felt wrong, he was _wrong._ And yet….

"Victoria…. I did not come to Buckingham Palace with the expectation of being impressed, but I find you utterly… hard to dismiss." He relented, one hand rising slowly as if to caress her face, his dark probing eyes meeting her own widened stare. He was _so close_ to her, she could not think.

The door nearest them opened and they jumped apart as if doused in ice-cold water. She could think clearly again. She felt clammy and uneasy, even mildly nauseous. The sensation was not made much better when she looked past Lord Alfred into the narrowed eyes of Lord Melbourne.

* * *

 _Please join me for lunch  
I will soon be in need of pleasant distraction._

 _-V_

Lord Melbourne stared at the note in his hand, passed to him by his steward upon arriving to Dover House. He sighed heavily, rubbing his in thought. Pleasant distraction could mean any number of things, not the least of which having occurred between the two of them not twelve hours before.

He would be a terrible liar if he said he did not wish for a repeat of the previous nights activities. But he would also be a terrible liar if he said he did not utterly dread it happening again. Such confliction would be enough to drive any man to their grave. He wrestled with the idea of sending his regretful decline of her invitation.

A stronger man would have done so. She had beat down his defenses so persistently that he was not such a strong man anymore. But he would have reinforcements. He could not allow himself to be alone with the Queen anymore, or he would find himself making the most foolish decision. Foolish despite what he desired.

The palace entryway was empty when he arrived, an odd occurrence. He stood twirling the brim of his hat debating what to do when Lord Alfred descended the stairs with a jovial greeting. "Here to see the Queen, I suppose?" The man asked, shaking hands with the Prime Minister.

"Ah, yes. I received a summons to join her Majesty for lunch." Melbourne responded, finally handing his hat to a maid who appeared to his right. "I do not suppose you know where the Queen is?"

"I heard piano music from her parlor not a few moments ago. " Lord Alfred responded with a smile. "She is most accomplished."

"Indeed…" Struck by inspiration, placed a hand on the other mans' shoulder. "Join us for lunch, Lord Alfred." He did not present it as an option.

"I am not sure if—"

"Nonsense. I am sure her Majesty's ladies will be joining us, why deny them the pleasure of your company?"

Reluctantly, Alfred followed Melbourne up the stairs to the Queen's parlor. Whatever music had been heard was not playing any longer. Melbourne felt his heart begin to race at the prospect of seeing her so soon, feeling mildly foolish. He had long since thought he was past the youthful excitement a woman could create, and evidently he was mistaken.

The door stood slightly ajar, and he pushed it open.

He was sure he was not mistaken, his eyes had seen it; Albert so close to the Queen, making as if to embrace her. Victoria looked stiff as a board as if rooted to the spot by nails to the floor. The sight was enough to knock the wind out of him. Almost in slow motion he watched her jump away from him, her head whipping to the side to gaze at him in open shock. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks were flushed, and Albert looked satisfied.

"Lord M!" She exclaimed. When no one answered her, Alfred cleared his throat uncomfortably. Both she and Lord Alfred did not miss the Prince and Melbourne staring at each other with stony expressions, daring the other to say something, anything.

Victoria's eyes darted between the two men, desperately trying to find something to say or do. "Have you come for lunch, as I requested Lord M?"

Melbourne looked at her with enormous effort. "I…" he began. He had found himself in that moment wanting to leave her presence with sudden urgency, if only to be able to draw breath again. "No. I merely stopped through to decline your invitation in person with my sincerest apologies. I am off to Brocket Hall."

"Brocket Hall." She repeated, staring at him in disbelief. It was not a question, but rather a statement of understanding. Victoria saw through his motive.

"I am sure we will feel the loss of your company, Lord Melbourne." Albert muttered, the words dripping from his tongue with malevolence.

"Albert," Victoria snapped, "I must ask Lord Alfred and yourself to give me a moment to conference with my Prime Minister. If he is so determined to leave me for Brocket Hall, I must address some pressing state matters." She remained rooted to her spot, staring at her cousin expectantly.

"Begging your pardon, Ma'am," Melbourne interjected, already backing from the room, "but I have not much time, I really must be off. A pleasure as always." The script sounded forced, not with his usual flare of carefully implied flattery. He felt that he must get away from her, before the jealousy boiling somewhere beneath his ribs said words or forced actions he would sincerely regret.

Melbourne turned from the room before being properly dismissed, an insult to the Queen but he knew she would never seek to publicly reprimand him. Every inch of his being told him to get as far away from her as he could. The image of Victoria and Albert so close to each other, breathing heavily, would be permanently branded into his minds eye.

He took the steps two at a time, wondering why it came as such a shock. He himself had encouraged it, had even left her alone with him. The Queen must marry, and she could not marry him. He pushed traitorous memories from his head, knowing he could not set store or hope by them. Whatever was between them could never be cultivated to fruition. Best to let her be captivated by someone else.

"Lord Melbourne!" a voice echoed across the entry hall, just as he had reached the door. He turned to face the last man he wanted to see at the moment. "A moment, please." Prince Albert demanded.

Melbourne bowed his head slightly, his eyes darting to the floor before rising to meet those of the German Prince. "What can I do for you, your serene Highness?"

Albert looked around as if to ensure no curious ears were within hearing distance, and took a step forward. "You admire the Queen?"

"Who could not, your highness?" Melbourne responded with forced stoicism. "I could not help but notice your early leave from the party last night, Prime Minister." Albert began. Melbourne was sure his stomach dropped through his feet. "At nearly the same time, Victoria happened to complain of a headache come on so quickly she must retire."

"The Queen appears to be feeling better," Melbourne responded, unable to help the glare he gave as he continued with "as the two of you seemed to be quite enlivened by each others' presence."

Albert grinned without mirth. "I did so enjoy her company today. From what I understand it, however, it seems you enjoyed her company last night."

A weighted pause hung in the air as Melbourne carefully restrained his expression from revealing his complete surprise. "I am sure I do not know what you are talking of. I was urgently called away from the party to attend to a sudden matter at home."

"Can anyone back up your story, Melbourne?"

 _With the right price,_ Melbourne thought, frantically trying to find his way out of this hole Victoria had so happily dug for them. He had told her too many times to count what a mistake their _friendship_ was, what trouble it would create. And here he was trying desperately to save her from their foolish actions.

"The servants talk, Lord Melbourne. And my Uncle pays well for their information."

"You would destroy her reputation and credibility over some falsehoods?" Melbourne accused, his voice low and dangerous. "If that is really the kind of man you are, you do not deserve her. How could she ever marry a man who would sully her name for his own jealous gain? If you mean to discredit me, sir, go about it a different way. I would rather retire to my country home an outcast than to watch her struggle to overcome such a scandal."

"How… romantic of you, Lord Melbourne," Alfred remarked with a raised brow. "But Victoria would over come the scandal if she made an offer of marriage to me. A royal wedding is enough to make anyone forget the fallacies of others."

Melbourne's blood was boiling now, and even though he hardly increased his tone at all, his voice rang out, echoing about the room. "You do not deserve her!"

"And you do!?" Albert responded in equal ferocity.

"No." Melbourne responded quietly, looking to the top of the stairs where a stunned Victoria stood, hands gripping the marble banister. He stared at her, barely noticing Albert follow his gaze. "But that is not for me to decide, is it?"

A/N: Opinions?


	7. Yours

_Something always brings me back to you  
It never takes too long  
No matter what I say or do  
I'll still feel you here 'till the moment I'm gone_

 _You hold me without touch  
You keep me without chains  
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love  
And not feel your reign_

 _Set me free, leave me be  
I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity  
Here I am, and I stand  
So tall, just the way I'm supposed to be_

 _But you're on to me and all over me_

 _-Gravity, Sara Bareilles_

Chapter Seven: Yours

The cool marble felt like an anchor beneath her clammy hands, she held on so firmly as if the sky were trying to grab hold of her and tear her from this Earth. She was sure her heart was going to fail her, pounding as it was beneath its cage of cartilage and bone and flesh. She stood on the landing of two staircases over looking the entrance hall where two men stood close, with their backs rod straight and their faces red with anger.

She had followed them out of the parlor, with the single-minded need to reach her Lord M and explain what he had seen. She knew how it must have appeared to him at the moment he arrived. She would certainly never forget the apprehensive way she witnessed Albert actively trying to seduce her with words and tender intentions. Her mind had shut down and her legs had turned to lead. And she would never be able to live down the shame of how she had reacted to him; would never forget standing there with every inch of her body begging him to touch her. It was maddening… _he_ was maddening.

However it had not been the same with Albert as it was with Lord Melbourne. With Albert she responded to his words and closeness with emotionless instinct; as if her brain told her body in precise steps how to respond to such advances. She did not encourage him but she did not stop him, she just simply _was._ But with Melbourne….

With Melbourne every fiber of her being reached out for him, screamed for his words and touch and breath. With him her heart fueled the fire beneath her skin, blanking out all rationality, all sense of right or wrong. So wholly consumed by him she was that there was no more thought, there was just him, and her, and the need to vanquish any microscopic amount of space between their two beings.

She had fled after the two men, hoping to apprehend her Prime Minister alone before he fled from her to Brocket Hall once more. She needed to make him understand that the mechanical way she responded to her cousin was nothing compared to the passionate and primal instinct between the two them.

What she found, however, were the two men in question looking at each other as if about to take up arms against the other. For a moment she illogically feared a dual might break out beneath her very nose.

She did not hear their words, but she was sure she did not need to. Melbourne caught sight of her over Albert's shoulder, their eyes met and she saw… nothing much aside from the anger written in his stiff posture. Years of carefully controlled emotion and being able to control the often-escalating atmosphere at parliament aided him now. She saw no indication of love or sadness, of jealousy or hopefulness. No jovial quirk of his lips she felt he saved just for his Queen. Only anger.

His lips moved tersely, forming words she could not hear either due to distance or to the cacophony of her silent, desperate pleads she tried to communicate to him. Melbourne made no acknowledgement of her presence before him, only turning to take his leave through the large doors into the bright, midday sun.

The door closed with an awful finality, and she found herself unable to tear her eyes from it. Was he so angry with her that he could not stand to be in her company, without even allowing explanation?

She hardly noticed Albert gazing up at her, his cheeks bright read and lips pressed together so firmly they were nearly white. Slowly, weighted by the careful consideration of what to say next, he ascended the steps toward his cousin.

She only turned to look at him when he was within a few feet of her. They glared at each other in stifling silence.

Suddenly the anger dropped out his eyes; they turned wide and pleading, puzzling. He leaned closer to her, as if to share a precious secret with her. "You are making a most grave mistake, Victoria."

He left Victoria standing there, face carefully blank. She thought she understood now, the scene she came across. Albert knew. Somehow, he _knew._ And what was more, she felt a hollow sort of surprise at the thought that her reticent cousin, by the imploring way he had just looked at her, was _worried._

* * *

Pacing anxiously around her bedchamber, Victoria frantically tried to figure out what to do. What _could_ she do? All her life she had felt sure that when she became Queen she would be liberated with the ability to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, without having to take the commands of her mother or anyone else.

But now, as she twisted her hands in knots around a particular silken white cravat, she had never felt more trapped. She could not risk another impromptu trip to Brocket Hall, especially if suspicion of her less than platonic relationship with Lord Melbourne was picking up pace about the palace. It was one thing for Albert to accuse her Lord M, but as long as he did not admit to their less than chaste rendezvous, there was still time to rectify the situation. And even though she was close to throwing all caution to the wind and running after him like an imprinted duckling, she knew better. This was the moment she had to practice restraint for the sake of having any future with him.

But the restraint was surely going to drive her mad.

The precious fabric she held now was all that was grounding her. How could she tell him all she needed to say? She could hardly call on him, and she doubted he would answer her summons.

Striding to her writing desk with sudden inspiration, she searched agitatedly for pen and paper. Her words came sprawling across the page in a chaotic jumble, and whether or not they formed any coherent sentences she did not particularly care. Her usual close attention to the appearance of her printing and conveyance of her messages was completely disregarded.

She signed it with a hasty "Yours," and stopped to catch her breath. She stared at that last word feeling the inadequacy of the conclusion to her missive. She underlined it, wanting to make sure he understood the weight of the word. The tip of her pen snapped, leaving a large blot of ink. She cried out in frustration but was in no mood to rewrite it all out. She quickly folded it up and sealed it plainly, without her royal seal. There was no name on the letter to incriminate her, and she only hoped that small thought of deception went unneeded.

Calling for the only person she felt she could trust with her task, she stood by her window waiting impatiently.

Finally she heard someone enter the room. "You asked for me, ma'am?" A familiar voice called from opposite the room.

"Skerrett!" Victoria said, turning to face her maid with relief. She strode quickly over to her, placing her hands over the maids, the letter between them. She held onto her warm, labor worn fingers while she begged, "Please take this to Dover House."

The woman stared back at her Queen with ill concealed shock. "I do not understand, why not send it with a messenger?"

"I do not want anyone to know I am sending this letter, and I feel I can trust you Ms. Skerrett." Victoria explained in a near whisper, the desperateness of her situation saturating every word she spoke. "I need you to take this to Lord Melbourne, and do not let it leave your sight unless you are placing it directly in his hands, am I understood?"

Eliza Skerrett nodded, clearly confused but asking no more questions.

"And when you have done that, " Victoria added with sudden inspiration, "Do not leave until he has sent you back with a reply. Here is some money, you can keep whatever you do not need to make the trip unaided and unnoticed."

The young dresser looked at the notes in her hand with wide eyes, sure she had never seen so much money at once in her life. "Your majesty, are you sure –"

"Please," Victoria implored, grasping her hands more firmly, "woman to woman, I need you to do this for me. I would be in your debt."

Skerrett swallowed, surveying the unveiled desperateness in her mistresses eyes, and nodded. "I will make my excuses and then leave, ma'am."

"I will make your excuses for you, " Victoria said quickly. "please go now."

"To Dover House?"

"To Dover House."

Victoria sank down on her settee after Skerrett had left, tucking the note safely inside her gown. Now all she could do was wait.

* * *

Lord Melbourne stood before a large French window, a carafe half full of brandy grasped in once hand as he surveyed the grounds, as if expected a small-unmarked carriage to make its way up the drive.

The thought was foolishly hopeful, having only just arrived at Dover House an hour ago himself. He had ridden his horse furiously from Buckingham Palace, making the journey in record time, arriving in a rush of sweat and short temper. He barked at the stable lad and snapped at his housekeeper. They surely felt as if he had taken leave of his senses, as his moods were not usually so severely labile; having left the house in a relatively jovial mood that same morning.

He tilted the carafe of brandy up to his lips, taking a rather large swig as the reason for his happy mood that morning burned a fresh wound. Such sinful happiness was not known to come without a price, and his was knowing that the love he felt for a certain young monarch could never come to fruition. Not without more of the pain and anger he was currently suffering so severely form.

He more or less slammed down the carafe, the amber liquid sloshing around like angry waves crashing against a rocky shore. Sinking into the nearest chair he dropped his head into his hands, wondering at his own foolishness. He had warned him self, and Victoria, repeatedly against their actions. But like a drunkard to ale, he could not resist the siren call. And now he sat despondently in an old chair, in an empty room, with no idea what step to make next.

A door opened near by, causing Melbourne to take a steadying breath to control the irrational anger that reared its head. "I am not to be disturbed," he called out with forced calmness, not bothering to turn and see who had entered.

"Forgive me sir," The voice of his steward called out, "But a lady is here with a letter for you. She is insistent that her orders are to place it only into your hands, sir."

Melbourne turned about, intrigued. He vaguely recognized a plain blonde girl from the castle, one of Victoria's attendants. One could then draw the conclusion that the letter held in the girls grasp was from the object of his troubles. Melbourne stared at that letter for a moment with a blank look, no hint of emotion conveyed to the two other people before him. Slowly, with careful resignation, he stood to receive the letter from the messenger.

"Thank you, Miss…?"

"Skerrett, sir." The blond responded, handing over the letter and dropping into a curtsy.

He stared at her expectantly, but she did not leave the room.

She blushed as he stared at her. "Begging your pardon, sir. I have express instructions to remain until I can return with a reply."

Melbourne sighed, looking up at the ceiling wondering for the thousandth time that day: Why did it have to be Victoria and not an ordinary woman?

"Alright then. You may wait outside, I will bring you my reply when ready."

The maid and the steward left him alone to stare at the offending letter. His hands began to tremble subtly, and he decided before he read anything, he needed another large helping of brandy.

A few moments later he was leaning against the wall by the window, opening the letter to familiar, hurried scrawling letters.

 _My dearest Lord M,_

 _I do not know what transpired between you and Albert today, but I am sure my assumptions are accurate. I do know that you tore my heart from my chest as I watched you leave suddenly without a goodbye or a smile, with so much anger and pain that I fear I have caused you. Life with me will never be easy or uncomplicated, but I hope with every fiber of my being that you can look past the difficulties of Queen and country. I hope you can see just the woman who so longs for you to know that she loves you so desperately her existence seems to hardly matter without you by her side. Please do not desert me, I could not bear it, I would most assuredly go mad. I fear that you left my palace with nary an intention of returning. Please return to me and we can face our demons together. Please, please I am so entirely and truly_ _yours._

The words were frantic and verging on disorganized, letters and sentences crossed out with irritation and frantic urgency. A large black ink dot stared at him from beneath a single word underlined so heavily.

His thoughts were incoherent, a blur of contrasting emotions and half formed plans of action. He thought of her, waiting for his reply. Possibly standing sentry by her window as he was at his own now. He could not stand causing her the distress of waiting for a reply, but no words came to him. How could he describe the raging war inside of him? Describe that he too loved her, with every part of his being, but that it was this love that told him to stay far away from her; to not corrupt her life and bring down her rule in a hurricane of scandal and pain. Surely she would forget him someday, and he could live with their happy memories as a salve to his wounded heart.

He stared unseeingly out the window, knowing that this night he would make the hardest decision he would ever have the misfortune to face.

* * *

Victoria lay on the floor, staring at the painted patterns in the ceiling. She followed their complex paths with her tear stained eyes, frustrated and bewildered.

In her hand she grasped Lord Melbourne's reply. A single white orchid, a single word on a single piece of paper.

 _Yours._

A/N: Work has proven to be quite slow, and I have taken advantage to crank out another hastily written chapter for you all. I know its not long, but its something. Thanks for all of the lovely comments so far, I find them very encouraging!


	8. Remember Henry VIII?

_Consuming all the air inside my lung  
Ripping all the skin from off my bones  
I'm prepared to sacrifice my life  
I would gladly do it twice_

 _Please have mercy on me  
Take it easy on my heart  
Even though you don't mean to hurt me  
You keep tearing me apart_

 _Would you please have mercy on me_

 _-Mercy, Shawn Mendes_

Chapter Eight: Remember Henry VIII?

Victoria awoke the next morning before the sun had made its way thorough the cracks in her curtains, the room awash with a bluish pre-dawn glow. She stared at the canopy above her bed, thoughts nowhere particular except with the determination to ignore the hallow ache settling deep within her gut.

She had fallen asleep staring at the perplexing flower now resting on her bedside table. Unable to make heads or tails of the message he had sent her, she fell into a restless sleep, her confusion seeping into her dreams in the strangest of ways.

All she could gather from the one small word he had given her was a confirmation that his feelings for her were congruent with her own. But the absence of further information did not reassure her, and all she could do was take heart that he loved her back, and to give him the time he needed to come to terms with it.

Victoria resigned herself to going about her day as normally as possible. She would be doing them no favors drawing attention to her inner turmoil over Lord Melbourne. She also needed to speak with Albert – an unappealing thought but if her worries were correct that he suspected herself and Melbourne she needed to know how.

Her bedroom door opened, Lehzen appearing as she did every morning to wake up the Queen, but was quite surprised to find this morning ritual to be unnecessary. "Good morning, your Majesty!" the Baroness exclaimed, dropping into a curtsy and moving to the windows to open the curtains, revealing a day as dreary as Victoria felt. "You are awake already! Are you feeling quite well?"

Victoria sat up, forcing a smile to her face. "Yes, Lehzen, I feel just as well as ever." Swinging her legs out of the bed, she stretched her arms and called Dash over to her. "Good morning, Dashy," she whispered, picking up the small dog and hugging him to her chest, feeling a little better with this small comfort.

Her morning routine went about as usual, except for the way Ms. Skerrett was staring at her whilst brushing her hair out. Victoria was sure the young dresser had her suspicions regarding her Queens seemingly leave of senses the previous night. Lehzen and Mrs. Jenkins had left them quite alone for a few moments as Victoria held onto a chair and Skerrett laced her into her corset.

"How are you this morning, Ma'am?" Eliza Skerrett questioned quietly as Victoria let out a small _oomph_ with the air leaving her lungs. The corset was more constricting than usual this morning, but she found she did not mind so much.

She needed to be held together a little tighter today.

She contemplated her answer, wanting so much to confide to the only person who had some idea what was going on, aside for Melbourne. But she couldn't find the words, and feared that if she opened up at all she might not be able to put herself together at all. She sighed, and only whispered, "Sometimes, I wish I were not the Queen, and only an ordinary woman. It can be so burdensome to place the needs of a whole country above the needs of your own."

The last lace was pulled, and her corset was tied together. After a moments pause, Skerrett answered, "All I used to dream of as a little girl was being a princess, living in a palace. People only think of how grand it must be, not realizing the burden it really is."

Victoria nodded feeling a small hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

* * *

They day progressed as it usually would, breakfasting with her ladies in the morning, tending to her box before lunch, an afternoon ride. Conspicuously missing was Lord Melbourne, though thankfully no one mentioned it to her. Assuming, she thought, that he had matters to attend to at the house and would be back at her side tomorrow.  
Her day felt empty, though in reality it was full of tedious tasks that required her attention as sovereign. She was sitting at her desk reading a letter sent to her from the American president regarding the trade of Italian goods through English ports. She sighed, wondering how one goes about initiating trade when her Uncle Leopold entered.

"Uncle," she acknowledged, not looking up from her papers immediately. When she did, she fixed him with her best ' _I am bust why are you disturbing me'_ gaze.

"Victoria," he responded with a small bow of his head. "You have been shut away with your work for quite some time today. Even a monarch has to spend some time away from business dealings. Your mother, cousins and I will be taking tea. It is our wish that you join us."

Victoria sighed, setting her pen down. While she really did not want to spend time with her Coborg relations, she knew she needed to speak to Albert. "I think you are right, Uncle. My eyes cannot bear to stare at papers much longer. I will join you in a few moments."

Leopold smiled indulgently at her and understood himself to be dismissed. Victoria stood and turned to watch the trees sway rhythmically outside in the wind, wondering if her tedious day would be spent quite the same way tomorrow. She hoped not, wishing with every part of her being that Lord M would return to her tomorrow. And that he would return with having gotten over his noble yet misplaced intentions of staying as emotionally far away from her as possible.  
Tea was quiet. Except for the small clinking of spoons in cups, cups on small china plates and Albert playing the piano with a taciturn expression present as ever, no one spoke a word.

The Duchess had attempted conversation with her daughter, but Victoria only sat in her chair stroking little Dash, responding with as little syllables as necessary. So deep in thought she was about how to approach Albert that she did not realize she had been staring at him for quite a while.

Ernest made his way over to her, and sitting in the small chair beside her, leaned close to whisper, "If you want to play the piano so badly, I believe Albert can relent."

"Mmm?" She muttered, looking at her cousin as he pulled her out of her thoughts.

Ernest laughed. "You have been staring at Albert for quite some time now, Victoria."

Victoria flushed. "Forgive me, I was lost in thought and had not realized…." She trailed off but stood quickly. "Yet I think I will act on your suggestion Ernest." She proclaimed, and made her way to the piano.

Albert looked up at her with expressionless eyes. "Do you wish to play, cousin Victoria?"

She took a seat beside him on the bench. "I am afraid I do not know this piece, I wanted to look at the music," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. Leaning forward as if to inspect the sheet music on the stand, she muttered, "I need to speak with you Albert."

"I can only imagine what for," he responded, looking sidelong at her. She felt her stomach form a tight fist in annoyance at him. And then, in quite a normal volume he stated "I notice your Lord Melbourne has not made an appearance today."

She felt as if someone delivered a swift punch to her gut, and she drew a quick breath of surprise. She resented his boldness, he called attention to a matter she did not want attention drawn to. She prayed no one had heard him.

"He had matters to attend to at the House. He is the Prime Minister after all." She responded tersely, flipping the sheet music to the next page and trying out a few notes on the piano before her. "He may be engaged for a few days yet."

"Quite a loss for you, I am sure."

Victoria glared outright at him. He could make all the opinions of Lord Melbourne that he wanted. She knew she disapproved of the fact that she took council from him on nearly everything, and hoped that his other suspicions were only founded on that fact, and not fortified by others.

She rose, taking the sheet music with her. "I have more music by the same composer, cousin. Perhaps you are interested in seeing my collection?" She announced conspicuously, knowing that they were being watched by three other sets of eyes.

Victoria swept away, not waiting to see if Albert was following her from the room or not. Her steps were long and purposeful, and she did not stop until she was far from the room at the library. Turning, she was pleased to see he had indeed shadowed her, though there was certain reluctance on her face.

They stared at each other a moment as she tried to collect her thoughts. How to interrogate him without giving his suspicions confirmation?

"Well?" Albert said, taking a step toward her, hands clasped in front of him expectantly. "I assume you want more than to show me some music, Victoria."

"You are correct," she stated, walking about the shelves of books, her hand running lightly amongst numerous leather-bound volumes. "I could not help but observe a less than friendly conversation between you and Lord Melbourne yesterday," she began.

"No?" He stated in confirmation, offering no other information than that.

"And then you proceeded to warn me that I was making some kind of mistake." She continued to stroll about the library as if looking for something in particular.

"Yes."

He was wearing on her patience already, but she must not lose her temper at him again. Rounding about to face him, she insisted, "While I did not hear the conversation you had with my Prime Minister, I am sure I do not know why you should then warn me of something without explaining what it is you are warning me of."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, his lips forming the ghost of a smirk. "I see what you are doing cousin." He began, taking a few steps toward her. "Yesterday I was told in confidence by our Uncle Leopold some distressing rumors spreading about the castle servants regarding you."

Ignoring the icy feeling spreading through her, she tried to laugh offhandedly. "If you ask the servants on any given day about me, you could hear some wonderfully imagined stories. They do get so creative."

"Alas, I do not think this is a rumor so wholly unfounded. You do spend a lot of time with your Prime Minister. And when you both disappeared from the party two nights ago at nearly the same time… one can draw conclusions." His German accent grew heavier the lower his voice got, almost threatening her.

"I had a headache."

"Yes."

There was that awful tone of condescension again. She huffed, willing the traitorous blush to stay out of her skin. "People will say anything to cause a scandal." She stated, her hands forcedly relaxed at her sides. "I assure you it is unfounded."

"Is it?" Albert questioned with probing eyes. "You cannot deny the attraction between _us_ Victoria, and yet I have nary a hope of a proposal from you. You do not seem to deem me worthy of your attention, especially with your Lord M at your side." He was closer to her now, his steps having carried him towards her with purposeful intention.

She did not answer, trying to think out her words carefully. He was right, of course. Victoria _couldn't_ deny that she was attracted to him. Physically he seemed to be consuming the whole room at that moment, and she found it hard to look away from him. But she was also feeling akin to an animal backed into a cage, unable to break away even if she wanted to. She hated that she responded to him at all.

Their eyes were locked in a dance, questioning the other. "I meant what I said before, Victoria." Albert muttered, "I find it hard to stop thinking about you. But I also find it difficult to tolerate you chasing after a man much older than you whom you could never marry. Do you even stop to think of the consequences you could be bringing down onto yourself? At least a marriage with me would be welcomed, _allowed._ And I would love you, we would be happy together." His tone was almost sad and eyes were wide with sincerity, but she tried to ignore that.

Victoria swallowed, determined to keep her face straight. "I assure you that your assumptions are wrong," her voice was small and unconvincing, his whole demeanor intimidating her into timidity. "I do not wish to cause you pain, cousin. I am humbled by your feelings for me, but your suspicions about Lord Melbourne aside; I do not reciprocate."

His eyes darted about, examining every inch of her passive expression. "If that is how you feel, then I will return to Coborg." He finally said. "And I will keep your secrets, even though you deny them. It is hard to miss, Victoria. The rumors have been circulating long before we arrived, and you have only fueled them on. I will leave you with a warning once more. You can never be with Lord Melbourne unless you act to change the Royal Marriages act. Do you remember Henry the Eighth? Such upset has not been seen since he wanted to divorce his wife to be with Anne Boleyn. If you will recall, things did not end well for her."

A chill ran down her spine as he so concisely spelled out the repercussions of acting out on her love. Albert bowed to her, exiting the library and leaving her feeling quite alone, uneasy, and with an ominous sense of what was to come.

* * *

Later that evening, after a rather tense dinner where Albert stated his intention of returning home to Coborg, she sat in her rooms attempting to sketch out the landscape beyond her window. It was rather a sad portrayal, her heart not entirely up for the task, as it was currently dwelling on more important matters.

"Pardon me, ma'am," A voice behind her announced, that of the steward's apprentice. He crossed the room, placing a bouquet of flowers before her. "Compliments of Lord Melbourne."

She held it together just long enough for the boy to leave her alone. Grabbing the ribbon-wrapped stems of freshly cut flowers, she bowed her head to her desk and cried.

* * *

The next few days passed in the same fashion, Victoria feeling more ill at ease without the company and support of her beloved private secretary, but still forced herself to appear as if nothing were wrong. She began to fancy herself an actress if she should ever find herself without her throne. And the more desperate she became, she realized she was soon at risk of doing something that would cost her just that.

Four more days had gone by without word from him, except for a nightly delivery of flowers, each time something different. Her sadness began to pass into anger at that fact that he hid away from her, too cowardly to confront what needed to be confronted. She was sure people were beginning to notice the increasingly frequent way she snapped at anyone who asked him of his whereabouts. He was, before anything else, her Prime Minister. Avoidance would only get him so far; he could not go about this way forever, and her patience was wearing extremely thin.

That day she was due at the abbey to inspect some recently finished renovations. Besides, (as her mother had pointed out to her the day before when her bad mood had predisposed her to complaining about everything) it was good for her people to see their Queen.

"I think we should take the open carriage today, Lehzen," Victoria announced at breakfast, startling her ladies amidst the silence. They had noticed her ill humor and had not tried to tempt her into conversation. "It would be a shame to waste such a day as today."

"Very good, ma'am," Lehzen stated with a small amount of surprise. She stood from the table. "I will go arrange it now."

Victoria returned to her private musings, taking small bites of her food. No one asked her of Lord Melbourne today, most seemed to acknowledge that this had become an indefinite hiatus, and to ask the Queen about it was to put her into an even worse temper.

She sighed, rising from the table and ignoring the others who followed suit as was custom. She was tired of the tedious duties of being Queen, an excursion from the palace included. It was only the small voice in the back of her head that told her she had to ride past Westminster Palace, the House of Lords, that made her willing to venture out.

Tying her bonnet a little more snugly, she descended the palace steps to her requested open carriage an hour later. Already she could hear the crowds anticipating her passing through the streets of London. It did lift her spirits a bit to know that right now at least, she was beloved by her people.

Lehzen and Harriett followed her, taking their seats opposite her own. Victoria smiled at them, but otherwise did not say anything. A strange sort of anticipation had taken over her, and her heart was racing away beneath her gown. Soon they were passing through the palace gates onto blocked off streets flanked by royal guards; thousands of people lining along them, waving and yelling, all trying to catch a glimpse of their young Queen.

Victoria smiled back at them and waved, forgetting for a moment her melancholy and reveling in the feeling of people cheering at her; _'God Save the Queen!'_

She was watching a small group of children running after her carriage, laughing and waving, when she heard an unfamiliar voice from a mounted guard nearby call out in warning as a different sort of yelling began behind her.

Victoria turned towards the disturbance, almost in slow motion. It briefly registered to her that a young man had broken through the crowds to stand at the curb of the cobbled road, a loaded pistol pointed at her.

The shot went off, echoing off of the buildings and triggering a stunned momentary silence in the crowds, before being taken up quickly by a roar of frantic screams. As if her brain were refusing to catch up to time passing, she noted the ripped fabric of her dress and spreading warmth across her upper arm moments after Lehzen had grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to the floor of the carriage.

It did not even hurt, though she was sure it should have. She was being sheltered by two warm bodies atop her, she felt the carriage careening unsteadily down the road, and all she could do was stare at the crimson stained sleeve of her pale green dress.

* * *

"What is all that noise?" Melbourne muttered to Lord Edwards, who was sat beside him. They were both listening rather inattentively to one of the Tory party members make some onerous speech about livestock trading.

Edwards, a much older man than Melbourne, grunted in annoyance. "The Queen is passing by about now I am sure."

His expression carefully passive, Melbourne responded with, "Indeed? What excursion is the Queen on today?" His eyes moved of their own accord to arched windows above them, wondering how close she was.

Laughing, Edwards jabbed the Prime Minister in the ribs with an elbow. "You ought to know, man. Thick as thieves the two of you, I hear." He laughed at his own joke, and explained more fully, "I believe she is visiting the Abbey."

"Ah." Was all Melbourne responded with, pretending to be engrossed on the price of cows these days. In reality his thoughts were outside with the crowds, wishing he were among them, seeing her beautiful countenance drive by. She was never very far from his thoughts, conflicted as they may be. But he made a point to tell her each night that she never left his mind, sending flowers like a foolish love-struck boy courting without hope of success.

A deep breath in, and he cleared the futile hope from his mind that reared its head on occasion with painful reality. About another twenty minutes went by, Melbourne having succeeded in shaking her from his thoughts once more, when the doors opened with such force they bounced off of the walls, greeted by stunned silence.

"The Queen!" a man called up to the gathering of ministers, panting in the exertion to relay his message quickly. "The Queen has been shot!"

There was uproar as people stood, shouting questions at the man, demanding to know the extent to which their Queen was indisposed. Their Prime Minister, however, did not wait to find out.

A/N: So I know the assassination attempt thing is a bit overdone, but it was done in the TV episode. And I also was curious so I looked it up and there were no less than seven attempts on Queen Victoria's life throughout her reign. So really I have six more of these cards to play ;) As ever, comments are greatly appreciated.


	9. Broken Dolls

_Love me at last, or if you will not,  
Leave me; Hard words could never as  
These half words.  
Grieve me:_

 _Love me at last or leave me  
Love me at last, or let the last word uttered  
Be but your own;  
Love me, or leave me as a cloud, a vapor_

 _Or a bird flown.  
Love me at last I am but sliding water  
Over a stone_

 _-Alice Corbin Henderson_

Chapter Nine: Broken Dolls

It was utter chaos. People seemed to be screaming at her, faces blurred past her as anyone and everyone tried to get a hand on her to make sure she was alive and well. Honestly, it was extremely aggravating.

No one was listening to Victoria's repeated insistence that she was fine. She had to absolutely yell at someone who was demanding they carry her back into the palace like she was dying.

Yes, Victoria's arm did hurt. The Doctor had been sent for near half an hour ago, and while she was not a fan of being wounded by a bullet, she was also positive she was not in any imminent danger of losing consciousness or dying, Her legs were still quite functional.

Men in red uniforms formed a wall around her as she ascended the steps of the palace, met by her mother and Sir John asking wildly what had happened. Lehzen and Harriett were trailing behind, Lehzen having recovered from an assault of tears and Harriett with her hair falling out of place after bodily protecting her Queen in the carriage.

Victoria was quite grateful for their sacrifices. The fact that while they were her ladies their lives were placed in near as much danger as her own, was almost as shocking as the revelation that her own life was not immune to violent threat.

Another hand grabbed at her, and she swatted it away impatiently. "Leave me be, I can quite walk on my own!" She commanded for what felt like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes. Victoria felt her body start to betray her, shaking with a sudden chill passing through her. The relative safety of her palace had settled over her, allowing her mind to absorb what had happened, and she needed to escape to the privacy of her bedchamber.

Her mother attempted to follow her, crying and causing more drama than the situation warranted. Victoria pushed her away impatiently, begging of her to leave her be until attended to by a physician.

Unwilling to fight with the guards to stop following her, she acquiesced to their silent sentry taken up by her door as she entered the room. She would not openly admit it at the moment, but their presence did make her feel more secure.

Immediately, women were flocking into her room with warm water and clean linen. Victoria sank onto her bed and allowed deft fingers to release her from her blood soaked gown, stripping her down to her underclothes and corset. Warm water was run over her open wound, and she started down at it, finding that her eyes could not tear away from it.

The bullet had only just caught its target, taking with it a sizeable chunk of flesh, but nothing more than skin and muscle. She could see her flesh, red and angry and bleeding. Her shaking became worse. Her vision was fluctuating in waves of bright colors and blackened edges, and she became overwhelmed with the need to be sick.

She gagged, hand to her mouth, and a basin appeared before her by a helpful hand belonging to a blurred face she couldn't place at the moment, but she accepted it happily as she dispensed of her breakfast.

"She has gone into shock," a male voice stated with authority. The doctor, Sir James, had arrived she noticed. He issued instructions that barely made sense to her swimming head. Feeling her body being laid back, she allowed the gentle manipulation. Fingers began probing her wound.

She opened eyes she had not realized she had closed, and stared at the physician. "Well?" She asked with as much authority she could muster, asking for her prognosis.

"Your majesty has sustained a minor wound. It will be easy to clean, but the stitches will be painful."

She nodded, taking deep breaths to prevent another roll of nausea. Her chills were subsiding and she was not quite so dizzy now that she was lying down. With her uninjured arm she waved over the first person she saw. A petite woman that was holding precisely cut strips of linen came to the bedside, dropping into a deep curtsy. Victoria did not recall ever seeing this girl, and realized she must not normally work outside of the kitchens.

"Keep me informed," she stated to this girl. When she was only met with a confused look, Victoria grunted with the effort of ignoring the tugging at her injury. "No one has told me what happened; I need to know, and I want to know what is being done about it. "

The girl having understood her instructions, left quickly to carry out her task. Sir James paused in his ministrations. "Perhaps her majesty would like some wine… or brandy?" He suggested, his words weighted with implication. He was going to start sewing her flesh back together, like a broken doll.

Victoria nodded, grateful for his suggestion. "Brandy."

The requested drink was brought to her, and she tossed it back in a rather un-Queenly manner, holding the glass out to be filled with more. This one she sipped on, and after a few moments when the warmth of liquor spread throughout her, she indicated to Sir James that he may begin.

And he had not been lying she he told her it would painful. She did her best not to cry out, and wished that the room would empty out and leave her to suffer with only the necessary witness of her doctor.

She waved her hand in a dismissive manner towards the door, and most understood her intention to be left alone in her suffering. The ladies filtered out through the open doors into her sitting room. Victoria followed their paths, tears brought by pain leaking out of the corners of her eyes, which met the burning gaze of Lord Melbourne.

* * *

It was utter chaos. Melbourne arrived to Buckingham Palace just about running up the steps to be met with a Palace come alive by tragedy. People darted two and fro, holding various items and barking commands to each other. Guards littered the place, carefully observing those coming and going. He had never seen the place so heavily protected.

His eyes met that of the Duchess who was sobbing on a sofa near by, her ever-present companion Sir John looking critically grim. His heart dropped as he feared the worse, but never the less he strode over purposefully. "Your Grace," He said with necessary address, taking care not to impatiently spill his desperate questions from his lips.

"Oh, Lord Melbourne!" The Duchess cried, looking up at him through red eyes. "It is so tragic! My 'Drina!"

"What happened?" He implored, looking around up the stairs in the general direction of her rooms.

"I do not know, no one will tell me. All I know is I hear shouting about the Queen being shot and there she was covered in _blood._ "

"Blood." He stated horrified. His feet started to carry him away with some urgency, but not before he asked, "Is she alright?"

The Duchess waved an impatient hand at him. "Alright enough to refuse me to accompany her to her rooms."

He felt a momentary wave of relief with the confirmation that she had at least arrived to the palace conscious. He made his way up the stairs, unhindered by anyone as they all had their own tasks to carry out. The guards outside of her rooms made no effort to stop him entering, knowing who he was.

Melbourne entered her sitting room, the doors wide open to her bedchamber that was filled with women standing around a bed staring at what he could only assume to be their wounded Queen. Lehzen sat nearby, eyeing him wordlessly. He did not care much for Lehzen but was appreciative for her obvious affection and protectiveness of Victoria. He paid her no heed, standing in the doorway desperate to catch a glimpse of her, knowing full well that entering her bedchamber was too hasty.

He did hear a muffled cry, someone calling out in what he assumed was pain, and his eyes searched even harder. They did not have to search for long, as it seems the many ladies around her bedside had been dismissed. One by one they exited the room, aside from those who were strictly necessary to assist the physician, and then his eyes met hers.

Her hair was in disarray, her cheeks brightly flushed but the rest of her skin ghostly pale. But she was very evidently alive. He let out the breath he was unaware of holding in relief, noting that the doctor was only tending to her arm.

She was wincing with every tug of thread as her arm was closed. She broke Melbourne's gaze to take a sip of some amber liquid, closing her eyes against the burn of liquor and sting of stitching.

It had taken all of his self-restraint not to enter her room and go immediately to her side. She seemed to be thinking of the same thing, though she did not care to exercise the same control.

"Lord Melbourne," She called, her voice strong as she reached a hand out toward him. Unable to ignore her summons, he slowly crossed the room towards her, taking her outstretched hand and kneeling to place a kiss to it.

Her hand was cool and clammy, not at all like the radiantly warm Victoria he was accustomed to. He must have appeared worried to her, because she attempted a reassuring smile before releasing his hand for another helping of brandy.

"Ma'am," he said quietly. "I am glad to see you are alright."

"As alright as can be, at any rate." She responded, shivering at some unseen chill. She reached out for his hand again as Sir James's ministrations caused her some distress. She squeezed it tightly, and closed her eyes against the pain.

A few moments passed in quiet as the doctor finished his work. Lifting Victoria's arm he wrapped linen around and around the wound before securing it tightly. She dropped Melbourne's hand from her grasp. "I am finished, your majesty. It should heal well, but you should remain in bed for a couple days. You lost a fair amount of blood and you should drink plenty of liquids to help your body replenish it."

Victoria nodded without opening her eyes, the only indication that she understood.

"Should I send your ladies back in?" The Physician inquired, carefully eyeing the way Victoria's breaths came in rapid shallow bursts.

She shook her head, "No, thank you for your help Sir James. I need to have a private word with my Prime Minister about this afternoons events."

The Physician bowed out followed by his helpers and closed the doors, leaving the two quite alone.

Silence passed heavily between them, Victoria still resting with her eyes closed. After a few moments when he thought she may have fallen asleep, she suddenly turned to put weight on her uninjured arm, then sat up fully in bed. She revealed herself to be wearing nothing much more than her underclothes.

He averted his eyes respectfully, instead handing her the near empty glass on her table. "You should lie back down," he said without any real conviction. He knew she would do whatever she wanted.

"Where have you been!?" She demanded, ignoring his offer. Carefully, he placed the glass back down.

Cautiously considering his words, not wanting to distress her further, he said "perhaps we should talk about this another time."

"When?" She demanded. "Do I have to go out and get myself shot again just to convince you to grace me with your presence?"

He felt like she had doused him in ice-cold water. He could think of nothing to say in response, merely stared at her with narrowed eyes. Eventually he closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. "That's not fair, Victoria."

"Its true," she argued, brushing her hair out of her face impatiently. "I have close to no contact with you for days, and then my life is put in danger and you show up here like…." She trailed off, unable to tell him what he was like.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked quietly, but she did not grace him with an answer. He stared at her, relief really starting to set in now. "I was so worried for you, Victoria."

She scoffed, sinking back down into the bed. He did not miss her wince in pain. She looked away from him. "Well, I am well as you can see. You may go back to pretending I don't exist."

"Impossible."

Melbourne reached out to take her hand again, desperate for her to understand what he did not even understand himself. He ran a thumb across the top of her soft little hand, then raised it to press against his cheek. She met his eyes with his own sadness reflected in them. "I missed you," She whispered.

"I know." He responded, placing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and then standing. He leaned over her, stroking back her hair tenderly. She looked so small and doll-like beneath her covers, hair free of its usual restraint. "I have to go. I am sure the police captain will want to speak with me, and I can't stay shut away alone in your bedchamber for too long." There was a note of bitterness in the last of his words, but they were truthful at any rate.

"Will you tell me everything?" Victoria asked, pulling her blankets closer to her, attacked by chills once more.

"Everything," he assured her with a smile.

He turned to leave, and she called after him.

"Lord M!" She paused, briefly, waiting for him to stop. "Will you come back?"

He did not turn to face her completely, somewhat scared for what he would see. His words were truthful; "I don't think I could stay away any longer." And then Lord Melbourne took his leave of his young Queen.

* * *

The rest of the day passed with Victoria sleeping through most of it, though she was awake for periods of time, enough to eat and to be updated by various people. From what she gathered the culprit, a young man of eighteen years by the name of Oxford, had been apprehended by a combination of bystanders and the royal guard.

Nothing much else had become clear, but she felt some relief that the man had been apprehended and was currently being questioned. By then end of the night she had become restless, however, and despite the recommendations by the good doctor, rang for dinner to be sent to her in her sitting room.

"'Drina, Sir James said you must rest in bed for a few days! I insist you return to your bed and allow dinner to be brought to you there." Victoria's mother had hardly left her side since Victoria relented and allowed her into her room a few hours earlier. The Duchess currently stood blocking Victoria's entrance to the adjoining room to her bedchamber.

"Mama, really." Victoria huffed, pushing her long hair back from her shoulders. She had taken it all down once she had resigned herself to being locked into her room for the rest of the day. Between her mother and the guards and the staff, she was quite entrapped. "I do not feel faint, my arm hardly even aches and I have been drinking copious amounts of water as directed by my physician. If I do not feel up to it I will go back to bed." Victoria made it sound like she was issuing a deal with her mother, when both of them really knew it was an order. She would not be forced to sit about all day and night like a bump on a log.

Pushing past her mother, she pulled on a deep purple dressing gown over her shift, tying it tightly around her waist. She sank onto a plush bench by the fireplace, picking up a book left nearby to examine it as if with the intent to read. "Kindly call for dinner for me, mama."

Her mother left her alone for the first time in what felt like an eternity to do what she did best; order people around. Victoria quickly discarded the book and looked about the room at a complete loss for what to do next. No one had bothered her with anything of import that day, assuming that she wanted rest, but in reality a diversion would be most welcome.

And as if some unknown entity heard her pleading thoughts, a diversion presented itself in the form of Mrs. Jenkins entering her rooms. Sinking into a curtsy, the woman smiled up at Victoria. "Begging you pardon ma'am. The Prime Minister is here to see you, are you well enough to receive him?"

Victoria's heart leapt with excitement, and she struggled to grasp control over her composure. "Yes, I think that would be quite fine Mrs. Jenkins."

"Would you like me to put your hair up, ma'am?" Jenkins responded, eyeing the voluminous mess of hair floating around Victoria, untamed like a lion's mane.

Victoria waved a hand offhandedly. "This is fine, I'm sure Lord M will understand as I have been forced to remain in bed all day." She rose, attempting to smooth down her hair nonetheless. "Are they important matters, Mrs. Jenkins?"

"He did not say, but he appears most grave."

Nodding, she commanded, "Send him in. We are not to be disturbed, I want to get to the root of todays events."

As Jenkins bobbed away with a quick "yes ma'am," Victoria turned away from the door, stealing herself for a moment to quell the anxiety that rose up so suddenly in her. Out there was a man who had tried to kill her in front of so many witnesses, an act that could only be called reckless. What if he had help? Were there others out there with the same terrible objective? Her hands were starting to tremble when she heard him enter.

She did not turn around until she heard a door close.

He was standing there staring at her with an almost unfocused look in his eyes. It wasn't until she took a couple steps closer that he seemed to come away from whatever thoughts had taken him captive. He crossed toward her with the intent of kissing her outstretched hand as was their custom, but she ignored the gesture. Instead, Victoria flung herself bodily at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Victoria felt him still in surprise, but after a moment's hesitation he wrapped his arms around her in return, holding her close and resting a cheek on the top of her unruly hair.

This was a truly different feeling for Victoria. They had of course engaged with each other on two previous occasions, but in those moments her thoughts and sensations had ran together in a blurred mess. She couldn't remember any one distinguished feeling, only the desperate sense that she would never be able to get enough. But in this moment, feeling his arms around her, his chest warm and solid, hearing his heart beat somewhere beneath his ribs…. It was comforting beyond belief; she never wanted to let go.

But eventually she had to, and ultimately they parted. He stared down at her, hands still resting softly on her waist. "You are out of bed," he stated in an accusing tone.

"I feel fine," She muttered, averting her eyes from his. "I am not dizzy, my arm does not hurt so much now." She felt redundant, having explained herself to her mother and two other people before him.

"You should rest," he insisted.

Victoria sighed heavily, but otherwise ignored him. She moved away, instantly regretting the loss of keeping physical contact with him. "Have you any news, Lord M?"

He nodded, but offered no other explanation. Instead, he walked over to the bench she had recently been occupying, indicating that she sit beside him with the objective of getting her off of her feet. Seeing through his motive but complying anyway; Victoria sank down on his left (so as to not brush her injured arm against him). Close enough to touch him, but just barely separated.

Lord Melbourne sighed, staring oddly at the hands she had placed on her own lap, then began to explain. "After extensive interrogation with the… man who…." He trailed off as if unable to get the words out.

"Tried to kill me?" Victoria offered helpfully.

He went on as if he had never taken pause. "It seems he is part of a group with the greater goal of abolishing monarchy and creating a total democracy, giving equal vote to all. This comes with the belief that the nobility being granted their position due to their birth is a conspiracy, that ultimately God creates all men equal. Their ideas are similar to that of the chartists, but with more… radical intentions."

Victoria nodded, understanding his words, looking far off. "So there are more of him?"

"Yes." Melbourne said curtly, Victoria noting how his fist clenched automatically.

She turned to look at him. "And they will try again?" She inquired.

There was a pause while he searched her expression for something, though she was not sure for what. Whatever he was looking for he either found or did not, but it prompted him to respond with "Not for a while I think. But we should be sure to increase your security."

Victoria stood suddenly, crossing to the window where the lights of London illuminated the night sky with a dull yellow glow. Melbourne did not follow her. "Do the people know I am well?" She asked after a few moments.

"Ma'am?"

"Has a statement been released to tell the people their Queen survived an attack on her life with little more than a minor scratch?" It came out more commanding than she had intended, her voice rising to the pitch she used when she addressed her privy council and the like.

Melbourne blinked at her, the ghost of a smile crossing his face in admiration. "No, ma'am. Not yet, at any rate. But I do think that your people will take heart to know you are unaffected, and as stubborn as ever."

She stared at him, momentarily perplexed. He was teasing her, she quickly realized, awarding him with her first real smile of the day. She walked back over towards him. "I want to reassure my people, and also show this organization or whoever they may be that I am unharmed and not intimidated by them. If they wish to air their grievances in a proper manner I will hear them, but I will not tolerate stray bullets and wild hit men."

"Spoken like a true Queen, Ma'am."

Victoria sat down beside him again, this time her knees knocked into his as she leaned towards him, grabbing his hands. " _Victoria."_ She insisted for what felt like the millionth time. "When we are alone you can call me Victoria. I _want_ you to."

Melbourne sighed, staring at her. "If that is what you wish, Victoria…. I find on each passing day that it is harder to refuse you than it was the day before." He reached out, fingers ghosting over her arm where, under her layers of fabric, was a freshly sewn gunshot wound. "When I feared the worst today…." He trailed off, words inadequate for what he wanted to convey to her, and instead he cupped her cheek, eyes staring into her with such intensity it felt like he was unsure she was even there before him.

She raised a hand to cover his own, closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath. Words of half formed speeches she had gone over and over in her mind came to her. Declarations of love, bargaining, pleading… none of it felt right at this moment. She had seen the desperate worry for her in his eyes and written all across his features, had felt the concern grown from love for her. He did not have to tell her, despite how badly she wanted to hear it. All she needed was to hear him say he would not leave her as he had this past week – confused and desperate and grieving for something she had barely had the chance to have.

When she opened her eyes to look at him again, his expression was open; his resolve to cling to whatever scrap of propriety and honor he had, by all appearances, left him. And she watched, some small part of her boasting triumphant, as he leaned in to kiss her; unprompted, not coerced, just because he wanted to.

Softly their lips joined, completely unlike their first two meetings. The urgency and need of before had gone, and with this kiss he simply expressed his gratitude that she was alive and well; that she was here, warm and soft beneath his hands. Victoria sighed happily, searching for something to grab onto to steady herself, and finding his hand. He still cupped her cheek, thumb softly tracing light, soothing patterns.

Moments or years or centuries passed before they parted, and he gave her an odd sort of smile. She could tell he was still in turmoil over doing what he thought was the 'right thing' versus indulging them both in what they so desperately needed.

"Pardon me, ma'am but I have your—"

Victoria and Melbourne sprung apart as if stung, Melbourne springing from his seat so fast he resembled a jack-in-the-box. Face burning, Victoria saw Skerrett standing in the doorway, her face a brilliant shade of red to match the Queens. The two women stared at each other in understanding for a moment before Victoria nodded to her.

Skerrett entered the room with a forgotten tray of ordered food, leaving it on a table nearby. Dropping into a curtsy and avoiding Victoria's gaze with admirable success, she exited just as suddenly as she had appeared.

The room was left feeling stiff and awkward. Victoria was not sure how to address what had just happened; feeling only extreme relief at who it was that discovered them situated so scandalously close together.

"William…." She started, attempting to explain. Vaguely some part of her realized this was the first time she had addressed him by his first name in person and not just in her own thoughts, but he seemed unperturbed by that fact. Really, she was worried by how rigid his muscles had become, and by the fact that he had not yet turned to face her.

Standing and making her way slowly towards him, Victoria started again. "William… it was only Skerrett. If she did not know for sure already she had reason for strong suspicion. I sent her to you at night with a clandestine letter and paid her for her discretion. I trusted her to keep our secret and I still do."

He still did not answer, only widened his stance a little as if bracing himself against some unforeseen threat. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder; he flinched and she withdrew it.

Finally he turned to stare at her with a fathomless expression. "Victoria…." He struggled for words, looking as if he were seriously torn. Poor Lord Melbourne, he could not bear the impropriety and she admired him for it. And yet, she wished he were not as good a person as he constantly proved himself to be.

"We can't _do_ this." The words escaped his lips sounding strangled, desperate, as if every inch of him fought against the very notion he was trying to convey. "That was lucky, to be discovered by someone you trust and even then we cannot be sure she wont…. What if it had been your mother?"

"Can't. _Cant."_ Victoria exclaimed, stressed beyond measure and at her wits end. "I do not want to hear that word, of course we can! That is not the question. The question whether you _will._ You say we shouldn't do this, that we should ignore everything between us as if that were possible! The past few days have been the worst of my life and the only thing that kept me together was to tell myself that my love for you was reciprocated! And yet here you are trying to push me away _again!_ For what!? To make yourself feel better, to uphold some preconceived notion of what is right or what is wrong? _How_ can you tell me that what I feel for you is _wrong!"_ The words tumbled out of her, having been held in for days. He stood there, eyes widening with surprise but otherwise he did not move a muscle. She felt the tears threatening her again, and she brushed them away intolerantly, unsure if they were born of anger or desolation. He stared at her without words, his expression pained. Her tears were becoming more insistent the more she tried to ignore them and she was furious with herself of becoming so emotional when such important words needed to be said. "Don't you—don't you feel the same? If you could ignore the fact that by the sheer hands of fate I am your Queen, if you could ignore that would you be with me?" Her stare silently begged him to give her the answer she needed.

Lord Melbourne –having prided himself on always making the sensible decisions, on being able to separate self gratification and what was best for the greater good—found himself on the cusp of forgoing rationality as he stared at Victoria. She was a vision, hair down and in nothing but a dressing gown. Even her tears added to her beauty, making her eyes shine; firelight dancing in their reflection. Nevertheless, seeing her so distressed made him prepared to lay down anything she asked from him. He closed his eyes tight, thinking that if he could stop staring at her it would clear his thoughts for a moment, but to no avail. She had succeeded in breaking him. He couldn't deny her anymore, and honestly, it was easier not to.

"How?" He whispered, opening his eyes once more to stare at her. "We cannot marry, how are we to be together?"

Hope crashed into Victoria, but she did not move a muscle, as if trying not to spook a stray cat she was attempting to lure towards her. Taking a deep breath, she responded, "It wont be easy. And as for the marriage part…" she was wringing her hands with anxiety, unsure how to phrase the next part of her statement. "As for marriage, I will do everything I can to discretely inquire about the possibility. "

He looked at her, shaking his head with incredulity. "It is not possible."

"You don't know," some sharpness returning to her tone reminiscent of her 'Queen Victoria' voice, so different from just Victoria. "You don't know what we can do together, and even if we fail in legal marriage…. I will still be yours, marriage just make it acceptable in the eyes of those who do not matter. Will you accept this and just let us be happy together? Will you stop _fighting_ this?"

Melbourne was shaking his head, but more so out of the sudden insanity that had so wholly consumed his life. They gazed at each other, her expression pleading with him, face still wet with the silent tears she had shed. It tore him apart to see her like that, and slowly he made his way toward her.

He brushed away the wetness on her face. "You will be the end of me, Victoria," he vowed, sounding defeated, yet not unhappy. The long war he had waged against her had been lost, but he found himself waving a metaphorical white flag with a grin on his face.

Her face lit up hesitantly. "Yes?" She whispered, asking for an answer to a question she had not quite voiced, yet had already been asked.

Nodding as his hands slid slowly down her neck, coming to rest on her petite shoulders he asked, "what do you suggest we do?"

"To start," Victoria exclaimed, happiness over his acceptance leaking into every ounce of her words. "I think you should _leave,_ but I think your carriage should be quite empty."

His brows met in confusion. And then as she stared at him in expectant silence, he began to understand. "Ah." He whispered, beginning to trace the line of pale skin where her dressing gown ended. "Are you sure?"

"I cannot leave the palace unnoticed, or I would escape to Dover House with you in an instant. And aside from the obvious… pleasure I would take in your company, I find myself…" she looked around, not meeting his eyes in embarrassment. "I don't think I will be able to sleep alone tonight given todays… events. And I haven't asked Lehzen to stay the night in my room since I was about twelve years old."

Ever the devils advocate, he pointed out "You have the entire royal guard outside your door Victoria, I hardly think anything should happen to you tonight."

"A whole palace full of people and I still feel alone at night. I think tonight will be worse than usual," she admitted, blushing slightly.

"Victoria." He whispered, closing his eyes in attempt to collect some strength. "You've had a long day, I do not think you should be making this decision right now. If someone—"

She cut him off, rose up onto her toes, kissed his cheek and whispered—"stay the night with me."

A/N: I mean…. I'm pretty sure we all know where this is going. Unfortunately with the superbowl and other obligations (meaning work ugh) it might be a few days before the next chapter is up. I want to give it all the time it deserves ;)

Also this story is officially rated M for Mature. Just in case someone didn't catch on to what's most likely about to happen.

I say most likely because I really didn't intend this story to be this long and yet these chapters keep getting away from me.

Your comments have been so encouraging! Thanks so much for the support, I'm glad you all like my story. If you have any good ones to share I'm open to suggestions in the comments. 3


	10. The Meadow and the Mountain

**A/N:** Hey guys. Sorry for the longer than usual wait on this one. Aside from the obvious annoyances of adulthood like working, I ran into a total writers block on this one. Only because I felt so much pressure to do it right, and I'm still not entirely satisfied by it honestly. But here it is, the long awaited chapter ten. I am quite proud of the poem I found for this chapter, because I felt like it so adeptly described the relationship between Victoria and Melbourne through my story. And where they end up.

Attraction

 _ **The meadow and the mountain**_ _with desire  
Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest  
Surged 'neath the meadow's seemingly calm breast,  
And all the mountain's fissures ran with fire._

 _A mighty river rolled between them there.  
What could the mountain do but gaze and burn?  
What could the meadow do but look and yearn,  
And gem its bosom to conceal despair?_

 _Their seething passion agitated space.  
Till lo! The lands a sudden earthquake shook,  
The river fled, the meadow leaped and took  
The leaning mountain in a close embrace. _

\- Ella Wheeler

Chapter Ten: The Meadow and the Mountain

"What's the matter with you, girl? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Nancy, or rather Eliza Skerrett while she was at the palace, looked around at Mrs. Jenkins, who was paying very close attention to some mending she was doing on one of the Queen's dresses. On a table nearby lay the dress of the day in which their Queen had been shot. The blood stain was dark brown and dried by now, but somehow neither of the women could bring themselves to get rid of the pretty little green number. It was a favorite of the Queens, but how could they know if she still wanted it? They could make a new sleeve for it of course. Skerrett had intended to ask the Queen about it when she had brought her dinner, but found her very much otherwise engaged.

She was struggling with the situation she had walked in on. It had been much easier to ignore her suspicions, but to have them confirmed before her very eyes…. Well, she knew enough of what transpired between a man and a woman.

Scrubbing at a pair of stockings, she wondered if this sort of thing happened with all monarchs, or only the young female ones. When the stain wouldn't come out, she threw the stocking impatiently to the side and looked for something else to do. Mending would be nice and rhythmic, something she could get lost into without having to dwell too much on the secret she kept.

"Ms. Skerrett," Mr. Penge appeared in the doorway to the dressers' office, formal wig discarded for the day and his usual aging lines of stress appearing more prominent after the frenzy he had had to organize that day. Eliza looked up at him in surprise, only able to recall two other times when the man had addressed her directly. "The Queen is asking you."

She stared wide-eyed at him, attempting to swallow the lump that had risen into her throat, which was suddenly quite dry. Mrs. Jenkins set down her own mending, and stood as if to respond to the summons as well.

"The Queen was very insistent that only Ms. Skerrett is to come." Penge and Jenkins were both looking at Eliza Skerrett in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable. She would give her left foot that this was about Lord Melbourne, but did her best to look surprised and confused. She had become quite good at acting, in any case.

Ascending the servant's steps to the Queens rooms, she felt her heart hammering away inside of her. She did not fear a scolding. Actually, she felt quite strongly that if the social hierarchy and monarchy did not stand between them, she and the Queen would be great friends. The Queen trusted her, anyway, which was as great an honor as any.

Entering the lavish rooms, she found the young Queen sitting by a window, arms wrapped around her knees in a childish pose. Her hair was loose and her dressing gown was discarded to the side. Upon noticing a new addition to the room, Queen Victoria stood and faced Eliza Skerrett with a smile on her face, greeting her warmly.

Descending into a deep curtsy, Skerrett found it hard to meet the Queens eyes. "You called for me your majesty?"

"Yes, there are a few things that I wish to speak to you about, Ms. Skerrett."

Nodding in response, Eliza awkwardly looked around the room as if she would see Lord Melbourne hiding behind the curtains engaged in a twisted form of hide and seek. He was nowhere to be seen.

"What is your first name, Ms. Skerrett?" The Queen asked suddenly, smiling kindly.

"Eliza, ma'am."

"May I call you Eliza?"

"If it pleases your majesty."

Victoria gestured that Eliza should come closer, and so the young maid did, wondering what on earth was going on, and if this were really her life she was experiencing. It was so surreal, to be talking to the Queen of England like an equal.

"Eliza, I know you cannot ignore what you saw this evening."

Skerrett smiled hesitantly, attempting to make light of the situation. "I don't have to have seen anything if it pleases you, ma'am."

Victoria actually giggled, and Skerrett noticed she looked happier than she had seen her in days. "I am going to be quite frank with you, because I need you to understand this first. The truth is that I am in love with Lord Melbourne, and despite his best efforts to pretend he is not, he is in love with me as well." Skerrett said nothing, not entirely surprised but unsure what exactly she could say in reply to such a statement.

Victoria walked closer, off handedly rubbing her arm just below her fresh wound. "I must obviously ask that you keep this secret for me, at least for now."

"I swear not to breathe a word," Skerrett vowed. And here they were, arrived at the reason the Queen had asked her here.

Victoria smiled, "I know. I think you and I have an understanding of each other, and I am quite lucky to have someone like you that I can trust. We obviously intend to try and go through all of this with the proper channels and protocols, but there is a chance we will be denied by the Privy Council." She sighed, frowning momentarily. "But I have been too unhappy for too long, and I refuse to deny myself anymore. This is where I have a request to make of you."

Eliza nearly laughed, wanting to point out to the Queen that she was at her service, and she did not need to _ask,_ for she was duty bound to obey any order or request by her sovereign. Pacing now, anxious and restless, Victoria continued on with her dialogue. "Today I realized that my life could be taken at any moment, be it by assassin or fever or by accident. I do not want to wonder what it is like to be in love and happy with a great man merely because there are extra hoops that I, the Queen of England, have to jump through. My happiness does not matter to parliament or the people, or even mama. To them I am a figurehead without feeling or wishes or desires. But I do have all of these things. And what I need from you tonight, Eliza, is your help."

"My help?" Eliza echoed emptily, trying to make heads or tails of this long-winded speech. "Another letter, ma'am?"

Victoria shook her head. "No. Of course I will compensate you, not as a bribe but out of my deep appreciation for your help. We can settle terms if you agree. But what I need is a room, currently unused, preferably one in the opposite wing where a guest would stay. On the ground floor maybe, where it would be easy to get in and out unnoticed." She stopped her restless pacing and faced Skerrett straight on, looking her in the eyes with burning intensity. "And I need you to get Lord Melbourne there to meet me."

* * *

"This is a very bad idea," Melbourne muttered to himself. He had just paid off his driver to return to Dover House with an empty carriage, no questions asked. The driver had been instructed to to insist to anyone who should ask that he _had_ taken the Prime Minister home that night.

Victoria had vowed she would take care of the particulars, telling him to wait for a half hour in the stables. He felt entirely foolish, acting like a much younger man chasing after a pretty girl. There were so many things that could go wrong; being discovered being the most obvious. Twice as many men than usual were guarding the palace that night, being the very same day an assassination attempt had been made on their Queen, not to mention all of the people who resided in the palace.

Melbourne's insides squirmed with discomfort at that very thought of how close she had come to losing her life, and he would be lying if he said he did not want to be at her side; if only to ensure her continued safety. He could only imagine a night spent lying wide awake in his own bed wondering if the Queen of England remained safely in her own. It would have been utterly maddening.

It was also not worth it to deny to himself anymore that he did not want this. Because the truth was, if you dug deep past his doubts, reservations and anxiety over the foolishness of their hasty plan—he was very much in love, and very much thrilled to spend an entire night alone with Victoria. No prying eyes, no carefully veiled flirtations and judiciously drawn lines they could not dare to cross. He had no idea where the night was going to take him, having decided long ago that Victoria was to dictate every step they took and when. He could not forget that while he was experienced with a marriage (albeit an unsuccessful one) and multiple scandalous affairs to his name, she had not yet known what is was to have a lover.

The stables were filled with a deep chill, and the stench of horses and manure so strong he slipped outside the door, standing in the shadows and gazing up at the palace, set prominently against a clear sky littered with stars.

He was contemplating what his excuse should be if he were to be discovered when the glowing light of a lantern appeared before him. He turned sharply, bracing himself as if preparing for a fight, when he recognized the face behind the light. The shadows from the lantern were distorting her facial features, highlighting the hollows beneath her eyes and the jut of her cheekbones—but it was undoubtedly the same girl that Victoria swore was trustworthy. He should've known she would have chosen this maid to fetch him. For one, who knew the castle better than a servant, and for another reason it would not have been wise tell another person their secret.

The girl curtsied quickly, and Melbourne saw the hilarity of the situation—being shown respect by a woman who was helping him covertly into the palace to engage with the unmarried Queen. "Lord Melbourne, the Queen has sent me to fetch you."

He merely nodded, gesturing that she should lead the way. They went through the stables, where inside the young woman – Skerrett, had Victoria called her? – blew out the flame of her lantern and then whispered, "we should move in the dark, to not attract attention."

He raised his eyebrows in silent approval of this idea, and continued to follow her. They entered the palace through a small door that turned out to be the kitchens, clean and deserted after dinner had been finished. Skerrett indicated that he should wait, and she walked quietly to a door, opening it to reveal a staircase, looking up into it, listening for the sound of footsteps.

She must have been satisfied with what she heard, or rather did not. Melbourne followed her lead and they ascended the stairs together, quietly and with the bated breath of someone who does not wish to be discovered creeping though a palace at night.

For another couple minutes he followed her, feeling like a person of espionage in novels. All the while his stomach dropping at the smallest noise, or perceived movement that was only the trick of light. Finally, the maid pushed open a heavy oak door to reveal a room awash with the dancing light of a lit fireplace. She raised her brows at him and smiled, and he understood that this was his destination. Slowly entering the modestly furnished room, Lord Melbourne stood quite alone, with only his ardent anticipation to keep him company.

* * *

Victoria stood facing a closed heavy oak door. Through a small slit between it and the floor, she could see the dancing light that indicated that the room was in use. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling foolish for the sudden attack of nerves that just came over her. Up until this moment she had been giddy with anticipation, ecstatic about this small victory, convincing him to be with her despite all of the obstacles in their path.

But now… Melbourne's age had never bothered her in the slightest. And in this moment it was not the actual number of years he had that was disturbing her, but the experiences that filled them. She felt foolish and so very _young._ She was a Queen of a great country, born from a long line of royalty, but the small number of years she had to boast of were filled with hours spent secluded at Kensington. She had seen nothing of the world, had done nothing except take her rightful place to the throne at the ripe age of eighteen years.

Now, nearly twenty, she felt as if she might as well be twelve.

Victoria opened her eyes to stare at the imposing door once more. If she entered that room there would be no turning back; they were going down a dangerous path and there would be no returning to where they had started. But she thought of who was waiting on the other side of the door for her, and she felt calmer. It was Lord Melbourne, her Lord M. There was nothing to fear from him, she knew it in her heart. And stealing herself with determination, she pushed the damned door open.

He was standing before the fire, hands braced on the mantle above him and leaning forward ever so slightly, giving the appearance that he was about to dive head first into the flames as one would into a swimming pool. His coat had been discarded on a nearby chair and the sleeves of his undershirt rolled up past his elbows, revealing taunt muscles that flexed minutely when he heard her enter the room.

But he gave no other indication that he heard her enter, and if she were not studying him so closely she wouldn't have noticed the sharp inhalation or tightened grip of his fingers. However she was watching him closely, and felt a rush of relief come over her when she realized that he was just as anxious as she was. Even with all of his years he had never encountered a situation like this; covertly meeting the Queen in a deserted room with no witnesses. A situation so scandalous it only seemed plausible if written on the pages of a novel.

Taking a few hesitant steps forward, Victoria wished he would look at her. She did not know what to do with herself. How does one greet a man being met for a secret affair? She thought about calling out his name, but how should she address him? William certainly, though he had never actually given her permission to use his first name, so surely she should call him Lord M? But at this point what should it matter what she called him, as they were both so happily about to sentence themselves to an afterlife in hell.

Instead of saying anything, Victoria merely sank down onto a sofa facing him. The vast room was only illuminated by half with the firelight, and she gazed apprehensively at the shadowed corners of the room. She wasn't very sure if a minute or an hour went by, she just stared at his unmoving form and felt more and more idiotic by the moment. Was she not handling this correctly?

Finally he turned to face her, his expression so infuriatingly unreadable as it so often was. He seemed to be taking in her appearance, much the same as when he had left her rooms not long ago. "You're still sure about this?" He asked her quietly, eyes critical as if daring her to lie to him.

Victoria nodded and attempted a smile, but it felt fake upon her face and she quickly dropped it. Slowly, Melbourne walked towards her, still staring at her with an indecipherable expression, and she felt so irritated that he gave no indication to how he was feeling. She was sure he could read her expression as an open book, and it was hardly fair.

He was standing before her, looking so tall as he looked down on her, and it made her feel small. Victoria looked away from him. "Please sit, you are making me nervous staring at me like that."

Melbourne actually chuckled, and it lightened the weight in her heart as she felt the sofa give with his weight beside her. One hand came to rest on her shoulder just above her bandage, and she turned to him. "How is your arm?" He asked her softly, staring at the place beneath her gown where her mended injury was.

Victoria shrugged. "I hardly feel it. But then, I had a rather large helping of wine before I came here…" she smiled conspiratorially, "… for the pain, you know."

He caught onto her implication and grinned in return. "The pain? I see. Not to help with anything else?"

"Anything else the wine aided with was just an added benefit."

Melbourne laughed, while both of his hands moved to her waist and softly pulled her to him. She settled against his chest, loving the way he encompassed her. She felt safe and loved, and they sat like that watching the fire for a few moments, before he broke the silence once more.

"It feels so good to have you here," his arms tightening around her momentarily, "especially after I felt that I may have lost you today."

"These things do give us perspective, don't they?" She murmured, leaning her head back against his shoulder to try and look at him. She felt him nod once. The issue that had been plaguing her since he stood by the fire came to her mind once more, and she sat forward to turn and look him in the eyes. "Can I call you William, or must I call you Lord M the rest of our lives?"

Melbourne smirked. "I am rather fond of Lord M," he told her as he pushed back an errant stand of hair from her face. "But as we are breaking a myriad of rules and laws, I think it should not matter if you call me William in private."

Victoria scooted closer to him; she was kneeling before him on the sofa, and brought herself up to eyelevel with him. "Are you nervous?" she whispered, placing a hand on his chest over his heart, as if hoping to feel it hammering the same jagged beat as her own. She could feel nothing through the layers of clothing he wore.

William stared at her intently for a few seconds before answering truthfully. "Indescribably."

"I cannot tell. You hide your emotions and thoughts so well it infuriates me. I wish to know all that you are thinking." Victoria exclaimed with evident frustration. "It seems hardly fair, you always know my thoughts so well."

"You make it so easy," he teased with a hint of a laugh. "Do you wish to know what I am thinking right now, at this moment?" He asked her, delighting in the smile she gave him and quick nod of anticipation to go along with it. "I am thinking that I am staring at the most beautiful woman, and I can hardly even guess as to why she has picked me to share her night with."

Victoria shook her head at him. He was full of flattery, when in reality it was she who could not grasp his inclination to be with her. But he did look quite sincere in his words. He seemed so at ease with the situation, and an uneasy thought gripped her suddenly."Have you ever done anything like this before?" She asked him curiously.

"Have I ever secretly engaged with a monarch? I cannot say your uncle was as obliging as you are, or nearly so attractive," he goaded her. She rewarded his jest with a playful swat.

"You know what I mean."

He studied her for a moment, contemplating his words. He breathed deeply, letting it all out in a rush of air. "You have to understand that I am older than you are Victoria, and have had much more time to make mistakes. This is a very unique situation, and anything I may have experienced to come close to this was meaningless bordering on idiotic."

Victoria considered his answer, a delicate way of saying she was not the first woman he had been with since his wife. She appreciated his honestly. It was not as if she were completely naïve, she knew the way men operated, even while they were married. But Victoria felt that Melbourne was not so much like the others. She hoped he was anyway.

"What makes me different?" Her question sounded much more self-conscious than she had intended, and she found herself wishing to take her words back. She didn't want to sound jealous or as if she was begging for compliments.

But he handled her inquiry with grace as he always did. "What is different is that I am so completely entranced by you. The moment I first met you I was intrigued by your independence and resolve to prove yourself worthy to a world determined to believe you incapable. And then, I began to find myself craving your laugh and your company, to hear you call me 'your Lord M.' After you so cleverly ensured I remained your Prime Minister- stubborn as you are considering even _I_ advised you against it – I realized I would do anything you asked of me. Letting you down when you visited me at Brocket Hall was the hardest thing I think I have ever done, and I only did so because I felt it was my duty. And then," he ran a hand through her hair, freshly brushed and falling in soft waves to her shoulders, "you insisted I kiss you in that hall during the costume ball. And I went home that night and realized that without even noticing, I had fallen in love with you."

Victoria's breath caught. She had known he loved her, but this was the first time she had heard him say it aloud. "Oh William," she breathed, so softly it could hardly be heard. He smiled his unique smile at her, and bent forward to capture her lips with his own.

It began softly, lips just barely grazing past one another, nearly chaste. Victoria wondered at the incredible differences there could be between kisses. The night of the ball, and again at the dinner party, she had provoked him so insistently that they had met in a crazed crashing of wills. They had been desperate and pleading and fighting…. And earlier that night had revealed to her a kiss of relief, both basking in the kind of exultation that can only be found after avoiding the loss of life. But this kiss was all together different from the other three. It was born of tender passion and deepened love for one another. There was no urgency, for most of the night belonged to just the two of them.

Victoria sighed happily into him, leaning forward until their bodies met in a close embrace. Ever so slightly, she parted her lips to him, and he took advantage of her welcome. His hands were on her back, pressing her closer to him, tracing a path up her spine that sent a shiver through her, and she circled her own arms around his neck, one hand seeking refuge in his hair. Encumbered by her long nightgown, she shifted her hips side to side with the ultimate goal of freeing her knees to straddle his lap, when he gasped and released her.

One hand was firm on her hip, squeezing. He stared at her, and she stared back. "My gown is in the way," she stated into the silence that had fallen over them. Attempting to make her point, and trying to beat back any shyness she was feeling, she reached down and tugged the fabric upwards so that it bunched around her lap, leaving her legs bare.

That quickly caught his attention. His eyes gazed at the peachy skin of her thighs, suddenly revealed to him. And his gaze was so intent that she felt blush begin to creep up into her cheeks, unsure of the last time anyone had seen her bare thighs. His hands traveled down wards and began to delicately stroke the exposed flesh reverently. A chill traveled up her spine once more.

"Victoria…" he murmured. "How far exactly to you intend for this night to go?" The question was quiet and delicately stated. He made no eye contact with her, just continued to drive her near insanity by his continued caresses.

"I think my intentions have been quite clear," she whispered in return, and slowly she rocked her hips as she had when struggling with her gown, eliciting the same reaction she had seen from him before. He closed his eyes, fighting against some deep seeded instinct struggling to take hold of him.

He suddenly grabbed her hips to steady her; unable to formulate the words he needed to until she stopped moving. "I can assume you understand the risk we take?" It did not sound as if he was trying to convince her against their course of action, but she was positive he would not have protested if she suddenly changed her mind.

But she would not be dissuaded. "Are there not ways to avoid a child?" She asked, certain she had heard servants gossiping about such things before. But her words were laced with uncertainty, and not for the first time that night she felt the weight of her naivety.

"Nothing is fully effective, but yes."

"Do that then." She stated, snuggling herself closer to him. "I have decided what I want and I will not change my mind."

He chuckled. "No, I did not think you would. So stubborn…." He whispered, caressing her face and pulling her to his lips once more.

It felt subtly different, though she could not tell why. Perhaps the insistency had changed or just the fact that the last of his resolve to give her a chance to back out had completely melted away. Whatever it was she enjoyed it.

His lips parted from hers to lay hot trails upon her neck, making her mind cloud with no thought but for how great it felt. It was hardly fair; the thought occurred to her that her legs were so bare yet they brushed against the comparative harshness of his pants. Desperate to feel his own skin beneath her fingertips, she set to work on his shirt; tugging and untying and releasing clasps where she could find them. With her work being done only by feel and without the benefit of sight, it was slow work. But eventually her hand slipped between fabric, grazing against his warm skin and slowly moving up to broad shoulders to help shed the interfering shirt.

He helped, letting go of her to pull the sleeves off, and she stopped for a minute to admire him. He was the first man she had seen without a shirt on except for sketches in old anatomy books, and it was really an odd realization for her. But his chest was broad with lean muscle and she found it quite pleasing to look at, and even more pleasing to feel beneath her fingertips. She smiled up at him, and he grasped one of her small wrists, bring it up to place small kisses on her fingertips.

Hesitantly, he reached for the tie on her gown just below her neck, slowly pulling on the silken strings, watching her for any sign of reluctance. But she had none, and waited with her breathing coming in ragged spurts for the tie to come apart.

And then it did, and the neckline dropped lower, hanging loosely and leaving not much to the imagination. "If at any point you want me to stop," he whispered, "please tell me."

In response, Victoria grabbed his hand and brought it to rest over her breast. "Sometimes I cannot stop thinking about the last time your hand was here, over my heart. It was a feeling I had never felt before, and at night I dreamed of you here again. And now I have you here, please do not stop."

Suddenly she felt a hand on the back of her neck as he pulled her to him, colliding his lips to hers with such urgency she was sure she would bruise but did not care at all. He tilted her head back with insistency, deepening the kiss and exploring her mouth with reckless abandon. The hand already on her breast flexed, feeling so wonderful Victoria felt her back arching toward him instinctively, wanting more of this feeling she had never before experienced, and could not name.

Her gown was slipping down to her waist of its own accord. She had never been so naked in front of another person, and basked in the freedom of it. His own shirt long since discarded to the side, she pressed herself to him, craving the feeling of the warmth and closeness of flesh on flesh. They were gripping at each other with a necessity driven from primal instinct.

Victoria felt herself being laid back against the couch, and soon she was lying flat on her back, William supporting his own weight so that the majority of it settled where their hips met. They stared at each other, taking great heaving breaths. She felt burning in places deep inside her she had not known existed. Instinctively, she arched her hips up against his trousers, feeling firmness beneath the layers of fabric between them.

He elicited a mix between a grunt and a moan, closing his eyes and bringing his forehead down to rest against hers. Curiosity flared inside of her, wanting so desperately to see the rest of him. She reached down to the clasp of his pants, only to be met by a firm hand. "Not yet," he muttered, eyes still closed.

She startled a bit at this denial, but decided to follow his experienced lead. Yet she was unsure of what she was to do next. Laying there, staring at him she felt a little foolish, wishing only a little bit that he was as inexperienced as she was.

He sat up slightly. One palm came to rest on her stomach and the other hesitantly gripping the fabric bunched at her waist as if deciding his next course of action. And then he leaned over her, creating a trail of kisses between her breasts and down her stomach. She was squirming with need when his lips stopped their exploration just below her naval. He tugged gently on the fabric he met here, gazing up at her. "May I?" he asked her quietly.

She hesitated only momentarily, both excited and terrified at the prospect of revealing this last bit of undisclosed territory. She was well aware that he knew what he would find, but she still found herself growing wary. Still, Victoria was not know for her affinity for being scared off easily, and she rewarded him with a quick nod, staring at the ceiling unable to watch him unveil this last piece of her.

Slowly she felt him pull downwards, and she automatically shifted her hips upward so that he may continue unhindered. And then there was nothing but cool air and the certainty that he was staring intensely at her.

* * *

William was not particularly a religious man. But as he stared at the beautiful woman beneath him, completely naked and blushing from head to toe with the uncertainty of innocence, he found himself silently thanking as many deities as he could think of.

He could not remember the last time he had ever beheld something so perfect, and there she was putting all of her trust and love into him. Never would he feel he deserve such a precious gift, but here it was before him anyway. After a moments study, he noticed she was quite still and silent. Gently, he moved over her, supporting most of his weight on his arms as he drew to eyelevel with her.

"Victoria," he whispered, watching her determination to stare anywhere but at him. "Look at me," he implored her, placing one hand softly beneath her chin. Hesitantly, she met his demand and he smiled at her. "You are so perfect. You do not have to be embarrassed, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She released a heavy breath in relief, and tried to smile in return at him. He could tell the stubborn confidence she had gone into this with was starting to waver out of fear of the unknown. Tenderly he kissed her, coaxing her back into fervency. She responded quickly enough, her stiff body becoming relaxed and pliable, her hips rising to meet his once more in rhythmic waves.

It was the most torturous thing to feel her pressed against him and he so desperately wanted to join her in her nakedness; though to do so would not help his resolve to take things slowly with her. Instead he slowly reached down to the warm junction of her thighs, feeling her still once more at his probing fingers.

He was met with hot wetness, and softly, slowly he stroked eliciting a soft moan from her. He continued like this and when she did not ask him to stop, he used a knee to pry her legs apart, giving him more access. Victoria's legs wound loosely around him, occasionally curling into his back in a silent plea to continue. Her eyes were closed, brows slightly puckered together creating a small crease in concentration, and bruised lips parted with heavy breathing. He watched her as he continued his ministrations, looking for any sign of discomfort.

One finger found her small entrance and slowly he pushed forward past the little barrier of virginity. Her eyes flew open in surprise and she jerked her hips back from him, but he was prepared for it. He reached up to cup her face, kissing her tenderly until she relaxed once more, and then he continued.

After a moment she responded, making soft noises of contentment as he tended to her with the aim of making the ultimate act less comfortable. Her small noises of pleasure egging him on, and he reached one hand up to her breasts, massaging and occasionally concentrating one tiny nipple. He drew it out as long as he could, but eventually he felt her muscles taunting and she let out a ragged, "oh… please." Even if she was unaware what she was begging him for, he knew, and he was enraptured by her response to him. Finally she found her release, crying out in a strangled gasp, hands gripping onto whatever they could find.

And then she relaxed, and he pulled his hand away from her womanhood, instead began to tenderly stroke back her hair as she stared at him in wide-eyed wonder.

"That was…." She started, panting as she struggled to regain her composure. "There are no words," she finished, looking at him like he had cast a spell over her. William smiled but shifted uncomfortably, his own body screaming at him for release.

Victoria watched him, eyes narrowed minutely as she recognized his discomposure. Her own hands began to move downwards to the source of his discomfort, hesitantly reaching once more for the clasp he had prohibited her from earlier. He didn't stop her this time, unsure if he even had the resolve to. Instead he helped her with the unfamiliar workings of men's clothing. Soon, he too was completely bare.

Her expression was near comical but it was lost in the seriousness of the moment. She was just staring at him, newly exposed. And then she met his eyes and he was surprised to find them wide with desire. She slid a small hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet her with a kiss, all-consuming and desperate. All of the sudden they were moving with a quickened pace, rocking against each other and hands roaming, determined to cover every inch of skin.

William grabbed her legs, wrapping them around his waist, groaning of the feel of her pressed flush against him. He put pressure on the small of her back, arching her into him and slowly, ever so slowly, he entered her.

She stilled, an exclamation of discomfort echoing to his ears, but it sounded far way as if through a long tunnel. William was still, determined not to move but mesmerized by the sensations rolling through him. He couldn't focus on anything, needing to take one large steadying gasp of air into lungs that felt on fire. He collected himself just long enough to ask her, "are you alright?"

She did not move a muscle beneath him. "Yes… yes I think so." She whispered, eyes wide.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he said, feeling like had said the same thing many times that night. But at this point there was no turning back, they had consummated a love unbound by the legal attachments of marriage.

William slowly began to move again, and she did not protest, instead she began to meet his movements, mirroring him. They met each other again and again, he judging his own actions by hers and finding Victoria to be just as eager as he was. It was mesmerizing, it was beautiful. The last of his restraint left him and he plunged into her with reckless abandon, and finally, finally found his release in an otherworldly moment of divine ecstasy.

Some time passed with the two of them embracing in complete silence, words feeling inadequate. Their breathing had long since normalized, the skin that was not flush against Victoria's felt clammy as his body heat dropped and the sweat on his skin evaporated. Inside the grate, the fire had dulled down to not much more than glowing coals. He knew he should get up to stoke the fire, but his body felt as unmovable as lead.

While his body was utterly spent and languishing in a simmering afterglow, his mind was whirling away. Conflicting thoughts fought for prominence, not the least of which was a constant rebuke of what he had just allowed to happen. But he was also so blissfully happy; a part of him feeling that even the punishment for treason was worth this experience with Victoria.

"Victoria?" he whispered, breaking the prolonged hush.

"Mmm?"she responded, sounding half asleep but moving a fraction in response to him.

"How are you feeling?" Emotionally, physically, he wasn't sure which exactly he was addressing.

She turned to look at him with a smile. "I have not been this happy in a long while. I did not think it was ever possible to feel this… content. Carefree." Her cheeks were bright with color, eyes shining with untold emotion. He was honored to be the one to give her that serenity, and to feel it in turn himself.

They lay there staring at each other. He was certain this was only the beginning of a long and hard journey with her—rewarding yet terrifying territory uncharted by anyone before the two of them. He prayed that above all things, Victoria did not suffer for the decisions they had made. William was prepared to do what he must to keep this magnificent woman in his life. However it was with an ominous feeling that he thought their days together were already numbered. The love they bore for each other would burn bright and fade fast, smothered at the whims of many nameless foes.


End file.
